


The Lies the Movies Told Me

by EnvyBakemono



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, Envy/Greed - Freeform, F/M, Greed/Ling Yao - Freeform, Infidelity, Lust/Scar - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Non-binary character, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Queer Themes, Sex Work, Sexual Content, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Transmisogyny, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:05:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 35,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8431222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnvyBakemono/pseuds/EnvyBakemono
Summary: The past doesn't always stay buried. The inhabitants of the sixth and seventh floor know this well enough – they've all got secrets, pain they've tried to hide, and skeletons in their closet. But when Envy finds a runaway in the dumpster and a chunk of her past attending the local university, it's hard to keep the bad memories from coming back – and to stop herself from making some incredibly, incredibly poor decisions concerning the loudmouthed genius she can't keep her eyes off of. Betaed by the lovely VioVayo!





	1. Broken Toys

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is the Edvy fic I've been working on for the last six months - it's not fully complete, but it's close, and I'm posting what I have to celebrate Envy Week on Tumblr! While it wouldn't be fair to actually call this a rewrite of SNEA, it touches on a lot of same themes. Which means, the inevitable long, long list of trigger warnings.
> 
> Betaed by Viovayo. 
> 
> SPECIAL NOTE: This version of the fic has explicit sex scenes in it (that will be warned for by chapter.) This fic also exists on FF without the explicit scenes. 
> 
> TW for the whole fic: Drugs, sex, sex work, abuse, CSA, transphobia, racism and violence (domestic, police, etc.) all show up in this fic.
> 
> TW for this chapter: Sex, child abuse (physical), knives, implied domestic violence/partner abuse.

            

            Of all the weird, bizarre things I’ve ever seen in movies, attempting to pass itself off as real, I think ‘mornings’ tops the list. A pretty couple all tangled up in sheets and curled up comfortably with each other – or maybe the chirping of birds, a little bit of sun streaming through the window…

            Reality check. My mornings consist of the sun getting ready to set, me picking my face up off my drool-encrusted pillow, kicking off whatever I fell asleep in the night before, and falling asleep again.

            “Ah – _ah!_ H-harder, please, god, don’t stop –“

            I opened one eye and glared at my ceiling. Unsurprisingly, that accomplished nothing.

            For _fuck's_ sake.

            I grabbed the shoe that had somehow migrated to the pillow next to my head during the night, and flung it at the ceiling. A shower of plaster dust cascaded down on me, and I blinked rapidly with another frustrated growl – and yelped as the shoe came down on me again, high heel missing my face by an inch.

            Well, my terrible upstairs neighbours seemed to have gotten the message that their gay sex was ruining my nap time. Again. The least they could do was moan _creatively._

            “Envy! Stop throwing things!” Beat. “And for the love of _fucking_ god, are these your eggs in the microwave again?” And, right on cue, my roommate. So much for the joys of living alone.

            “I'm done,” I grumbled, flipping my face back into the pillow. “And no. The gremlin did it.”

            So much for nice, relaxing mornings. My name is Envy, my apartment block won't stop fucking each other, and I have anger issues.

            Basically, stop here. You’ll be _much_ happier. 

* * *

 

             Naturally, my day continued to be marvellous as I poured scalding coffee all over my hand. “Fuck,” I grumbled again. I would have been a bit more creative, but it's hard to be creative when your brain feels like it's just been steamrolled. That, and the raucous sex above my head had a way of rubbing in how bizarre and joyless my sex life was currently.

            “What's the matter? Somebody piss in your coffee?”

            “That would probably make it better.” I slumped at the kitchen table, eyeing my roommate with some trepidation. She was putting together some sort of monstrosity of a breakfast sandwich and... _humming?_ Was she _humming?_ “...You're perky. Who's dead?”

            “Nobody.”

            “Yet.”

            She laughed, and even _that_ sounded kind of sinister. Or maybe I just have trust issues. “I'm just happy. Bouncy, you know. New day, new chances, all that...” She balanced the knife point-first on the countertop for a moment, then, still humming, sliced her sandwich in half.

            ...That wasn't suspicious, at _all_. “You got back together with him, didn't you?”

            “I did not!” She dropped the knife (on the counter, not the floor, thank god) and turned to face me, feathers ruffled and perfectly-coiffed curls bouncing. Oh, I'd pissed her off. Definitely Scarface, then.

            “Right, right. You're just, what? Friends with benefits? Hanging out?” I smirked at her over my coffee. “You have such a short memory.” I wasn't trying to be an asshole... well, okay, I _was,_ but I was being an asshole with a point. Mostly so that I could say 'I told you so' later on.

            My coffee went flying out of my hand, and there was a smash as it hit the wall, leaving a brown stain behind. Her eyes had gone cold, and for whatever reason, I suddenly felt a lot more comfortable. “Not short enough,” she growled, poise dissolving.

            I managed to drop the smirk, although it was a bit of a struggle. “Yes, ma'am,” I drawled in return, although now I was sort of regretting not saving my mostly-well-intentioned comments until after I'd finished the coffee.

            “Take out the garbage,” she snapped. “You've been putting it off too long again.”

            “Yeah, yeah. I need a smoke anyway.” I got up, eyeing the new gash in the wall. It was getting easier and easier to make her angry – not that it had been hard to begin with.

            Before I left, I heard her murmur quietly, voice calm and even, not betraying a single hint of emotion. Her mask was back, firmly fastened. “I didn't mean to, you know.” She could have meant all sorts of things.

            I just shrugged. “I know. You never do.”

            I grabbed the bag of garbage and my pack of smokes. She'd be alright. Well, no, that wasn't really true – but she'd be good enough. Just like the rest of us.

* * *

 

            It was already getting dark outside. I lead a pretty nocturnal life, cause my busy hours tend to be when the clubs are open and when people are drunk enough to explore the parts of themselves they're too scared to acknowledge otherwise, and my neighbours are mostly the same. I mean, there's a few weird people who actually hold day jobs, but they come to our 4 AM gaming sessions anyway, so more power to them. The upside of that is that there's no one around this time of day to see me in my boxers and smudged makeup.

            I chucked the bag into the dumpster, flipping open my pack of cigarettes and grabbing one with my teeth. I didn't even bother looking – I mean, who _looks_ inside a dumpster? Who bothers?

            I say this only because there was a definite squeak when my bag hit the bottom.

            “Um.”

            I dropped the unlit cigarette back into the box, shoved it back into the pouch of my hoodie, and took an uneasy step towards the dumpster. I knew we had mice, but mice didn't exactly live for long in a garbage bag. Hell, anything that _could_ have ended up in there could have just as easily gotten out. 

            That, and that was pretty loud for a mouse.

            I peered over the edge of the dumpster, wrinkling my nose. Staring up at me with wide and terrified blue eyes was a little kid, maybe six, with hair the same colour as the trash bags he was surrounded by.

            I blinked. Blinked again. He was still there, so no, I couldn't attribute him to sleep deprivation.

            “...This ain't a hotel. Get out.”

            And then he began to cry, blubbering noisily and burying his face in his knees.

            Well. I kinda fucked _that_ one up.

            “I'm not kidding. That's a terrible place to sleep.”

            “...'m not sleepin,” he mumbled between sobs.

            “I can see that.” I debated actually climbing into the dumpster, but it smelt _really_ bad. Like, I wanted to hose the kid down with bleach. Or maybe hydrogen peroxide. I'm sure Greed had some somewhere. He always had weird chemicals around. “Look, are you coming out or not? Cause -”

            His hair shifted to the side as he looked up again, and it fell out of his face to reveal a blotchy, dark-blue bruise around his left eye, spreading purple and mottled down his cheekbone.

            I could feel my fingers spasm on the metal edge of the dumpster, bitten nails scratching the grimy surface -

            “Cause there are beds inside and all.” God, he was so fucking _small_.

            “Are the police there?” he whispered. The skin above his top lip was smooth and unridged.

            I shook my head. “No cops.” I smiled, and hoped I'd managed the non-threatening thing. “Just me and the rest of the screw-ups.”

            He considered this carefully, and I could see him shivering. “...Okay,” he whispered.

            I leaned over, holding my breath, and reached out my hand. From beneath his curtain of hair, he gave me a shy smile, and grabbed my arm.

            What can I say? I'm a softie – if you get _really,_ really lucky.

 


	2. INTERLUDE A

INTERLUDE A

 

Please don’t make me your home.

I’m doomed for foreclosure

with crumbling foundations held up with scotch-tape and hope.

I've got a wreck of a basement

and an attic painted mustard yellow

and leaky faucets that drip the years away.

I know what they all tell you -

time to renovate!

Go ahead and bring in your demolition men,

but only if

you enjoy the sound of screaming.

(you wouldn't be the first)

 

And, besides,

how many houses have legs to walk away with

arms to push away with

tongues to say ‘I’m sorry’ with

that lingering ‘but’ hanging in the air;

I’m sorry, but, goodbye.

Think of me as a cheap motel –

a place to stay for a little while

only a little bit infested

and at least i'll make you smile.

But don’t make me your home.

 

Sure, for a week, you might tolerate

the holes in the wall and ceiling,

but it won’t be long before you get out the polymer,

seal them up and forget about them –

then paint over them because they’re still there.

Can’t you see that they won’t fade?

My structural integrity is compromised

And one day I’ll crumble away.

So you can look and see and touch and fuck all you want.

You’re nice, really.

Just don’t make me your home.

 


	3. A River In Egypt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: transphobic slurs, sex work, sex worker antagonism, food, implied stalking

 

            “I, uh... I...” Blushing cheeks, awkward glances, and a smile that seemed ready to fly off of his face. My last customer of the night was a good one, for a change. Even if it was _painfully_ obvious why he had to pay for his dates.

            Sorry, did I say date? I meant fucking.

            Still, though. The awkwardness was cute. I pinched his cheek. “Will I be seeing you again?” I asked in my favourite sultry voice, pairing it with wide eyes and and a little bit of fluttering eyelash.

            “I – uh -” He avoided my glance at that, and I could feel my heart sink a little. Either he couldn't afford it, or he'd decided one tranny fantasy roleplay was enough for him - “I had a good time. So – maybe.” He smiled, and I felt a little better. He was pretty cute, after all. He was about my height, which usually made me a bit self-conscious, but he had the messy brown hair and the puppy-dog smile that made it work.

            He leaned in a little, as if he were going to kiss me goodnight – and then instead, squeezed my hand, and turned away. “H-have a good night!” he called over his shoulder.

            “You too,” I whispered, even though the sky was lightening and lights were already flickering on in the motel rooms above my head. The envelope in my purse felt ridiculously heavy, even though two hundred dollars didn't really come out to much when it was in twenties and fifties. I didn't know why I was getting so bothered today. It's not being a hooker that bothers me, or even the fact that I'm living out a fucked-up stereotype. I don't know _what_ it is.

            Well, whatever it was, it was money. I'd made six hundred dollars tonight, enough for rent and groceries even if I struck out for the rest of the month. Even better, I'd made contact with a couple new potential clients. Maybe they'd come back. Maybe they wouldn't. I'd made up my mind not to care.

            I made my way down the road, high heels clacking against the asphalt as I walked away from the motel. It was only five minutes from here to the coffee shop near campus, and by now they'd be opening their doors, waiting for the opening staff to straggle in, closely followed by the bright-eyed morning people who'd decided for some godforsaken reason to take 7:30 classes. You know the kind of place I mean. That quintessential campus-adjacent coffee shop.

            By the time I got there, it was already filling up, but I managed to sneak to the front of the line, and snag my corner table before some idiot freshman could steal it – the chair braced against two walls, below something that looked like a Jackson Pollock painting and a photograph of Sylvia Plath. The whole place is like that – arthouse nightmare. I'm quite happy spending my mornings (evenings?) here, reading a horror novel and drinking bad campus coffee. If that was the only reason to come here, that would be fine. It's a place to rest my sore legs a little bit, before I have to go home and wash off the smell of sex.

            I pulled the book a little higher over my face, eyes darting up over the edge to watch the people coming in. It was almost eight. Goldilocks was late.

            And then through the door they came, a gaggle of them, loud and spirited and smiling – well, most of them. It was a group of teenagers, some of them maybe in their 20s, all of them clearly fresh out of bed and not quite ready for class. I don't know. They all looked like teenagers to me.

            “I swear to god, if he's taking us through _another_ basic function -”

            “Aw, stop your whining. It's not his fault you read the whole textbook in the first week.”

            I lowered my eyes back to my book. I could still hear his voice.

            “If they didn't want me to read the whole fucking book, they shouldn't have made it so easy!” he complained. A chair scraped against the floor. “Gimme a sec. I got my change somewhere here.”

            “How many pockets do you _have?_ ”

            “As many as I fuckin' want to, Ling. Shut your face.”

            A smile crept onto my face at that, even though I kept my gaze stubbornly down at the words that I hadn't actually started reading. My chest was doing strange things again, and I pulled the strap of my dress back up my shoulder, fingers lingering a little. Let people think I was laughing at Pet Sematary. Who cared what they thought?

            The conversation died down, and I could hear him in the background, ordering his coffee. Black, three sugars, and two chocolate croissants. Same thing every day. The others were talking about other things, tapping away on their keyboards or smartphones, some of them flipping through textbooks.

            Then, suddenly, one of his friends was making his way towards me, and I raised my head, sipping my coffee and making eye contact.

            “Hello, Ling.” I couldn't help but sound a _little_ sultry. Having to listen to someone's really wild sex every day when you're trying to sleep makes it hard not to tease.

            He smiled in return, although his dark, narrow eyes didn't give anything away. “Envy. Last time I checked, you weren't even _in_ school.”

            “And last time I checked, you couldn't be bothered to give me the time of the day. Can't a girl get some coffee in peace?”

            “You've been in here for two months, every single day. I don't think you even stepped foot in the place before that.”

            I shrugged. “I like the coffee. I like the atmosphere.” _And the view._ “Somebody's cranky. Thought you'd be in a better mood with all the screaming you were doing last night.”

            He shifted at that, obviously uncomfortable even as he affected a certain carelessness, hands in his pockets and his long fringe falling into his eyes. “I can't do anything about thin walls,” he retorted, smile unchanged. “Just because you live below my boyfriend doesn't mean I have to be comfortable with you being here.”

            “It's a free fucking country -”

            He sat down on the chair next to me, eyes still unreadable but the muscles in his neck taut. He was dressed pretty normally today for a change, black skinny jeans and a yellow hoodie for the November weather, and whether it was fair or not, it made me more wary of him. I trusted people who looked like I did. The minute they dressed to fit in, took off their makeup and high-heels and barrettes, I found myself a little more cautious, feeling a little less safe.

            Or maybe I just didn't like Ling. That was also a possibility.

            “I'm going to make this very clear,” he murmured, voice low and silky, but with a tone that left no room for argument. “Stop following him.”

            “I'm not _following_ him.” Technically, true.

            “Whatever it is you're doing. Stop it.” He crossed his arms. “Ed's been through enough bullshit without somebody showing up every day ogling him, or stalking him, or...”

            “Drinking coffee?” I replied with a raised eyebrow, and tried not to grin when he glared back in frustration. Instead, I curled my lip at him, closing my book and leaving my thumb inside to mark the pages. “I'm not going to _leave_ just so you can feel like your favourite hang-out is hooker free.”

            “That's not going to work on me.”

            “Really? You look pretty guilty,” I shot back. “Besides, I don't rob cradles.” I poked him in the chest with a manicured finger. “Now are you going to let me finish my coffee or not? I had a long night, ya know.”

            “Don't worry, I know. I can smell it on you.”

            With that lovely comment, Ling got to his feet, tightening his ponytail as he walked away. I watched him go, and felt my lip lifting into a snarl – but I lowered my face back to my book, steadfastly not looking in that direction.

            It didn't last long. Before a minute had gone by, my gaze was drawn inexorably back upwards. Ling was ordering coffee, so he didn't notice. And Goldilocks himself was sitting at the table, ranting about something or other, mismatched hands waving wildly in the air, wisps of blond hair escaping from his rushed and messy braid.

            It was something out of a romance movie, on the surface of it. Except I wasn't some cute girl in a coffee shop, and he wasn't a mysterious stranger. I knew his name. I knew plenty about him. His name was Edward Elric; he was seventeen years old, he was a genius who'd gotten into university early...

            I don't think I've ever hated someone so much before.

            Mid-sentence, he glanced up, and I found myself making eye contact with him. He blinked in surprise, and I averted my eyes, hoping he hadn't noticed, blood rising to my cheeks.

            Have I mentioned how much I hate romance movies?

            A buzzing emanated from my purse, and I dropped the book on the table, happy for the distraction. “Who is it?”

            “ _Envy.”_ Lust purred, and a shiver ran down my back. Whoops. “ _Mind explaining why there's a strange boy in your bed, with 'Don't Call The Police' on a piece of paper taped to the pillow? It's even got your sad attempt at a signature at the bottom.”_

Believe me or not, I'd actually forgotten. “...Well, _did_ you?”

            “ _Did I what?”_

“You know. Call them.”

            She sighed. “ _Of course not. I'm not that stupid. But as much as I've gotten used to strange boys in your bed, this one's on the young side. He looks like a toddler.”_

“I found him outside.”

            “ _So we're picking up strays now?”_

“You saw his face.” I caught sight of Ling, giving me a measured stare. I turned my face away, pushing down the urge to throw something at him and tell him to stop fucking _spying_ on my conversations. And he called _me_ creepy. “What did you want me to do?”

            “ _Why is it you only stop being a psychopath when it's inconvenient for me?”_

“Because it's how I show my love.”

            “ _I don't remember asking for that.”_

“Too bad. You're stuck with me.” I stretched, feeling my shoulders crack and my spine stretch, and wondering idly if Edward was watching. “I'm coming home in a minute, so hold your horses.”

            _“What if he wakes up? Children scare me.”_

“Just do what you do with adults.”

            “ _I'm pretty sure that'll get me arrested.”_

“Har de har. I'll be home soon. Bye.” I hung up, snorting as I tried to imagine Lust being motherly. It wasn't _that_ hard of a stretch – she managed it with Gluttony – but he was also kind of a special case. And besides, she got paid for that.

            I slung my purse over my shoulder and picked up my coffee, pushing my chair in with one foot. I'd forgotten all about the kid – I'd only dimly remembered last night that Lust wasn't working today, and beyond that I think my brain hadn't woken up yet.

            _And now I'm half-asleep again. Fantastic._ I grumbled something undecided to myself as I headed for the door.

“Careful!” The door opened in my face, I staggered backwards – I'd been too lost in thought to pay attention to my surroundings, and the long night hadn't helped – and I could feel myself falling. A hand brushed ineffectually over my shoulder, someone's attempt to help, but I landed on the floor ass-first anyway. The coffee I'd been savouring sloshed all over my top, and I winced, setting the cup down on the floor and trying to shake the still-hot liquid off my hand. Graceful. _Real_ fucking graceful.

            “Oh, _nice_ one, Ed. What was that, practice for the slow-motion Olympics?”

            “Would you shut up, Russell? I'm kind of two limbs short.”

            Oh. Oh no. _Fuck_ this shit. I staggered to my feet, and there was a hand on my arm helping me up - “I'm fine, I'm fine,” I stammered out.

            “Are you sure? You should be more careful,” Edward said with a frown, eyes fixed firmly on mine even as I tried to look away. Then the frown disappeared into a sheepish grin. “I _was_ trying to catch you.”

            “...Yeah. Cool.”

            The movies fucking _lied_ to me.

 


	4. Interlude B

INTERLUDE B

 

The mirror's full of contradictions

ugly truths and beautiful fiction

i could tear myself apart to escape my reflection

i could tell you pretty lies in a try for defection

 

my hands are bloody but they're too damn perfect

i could break every finger, would it be worth it?

Or maybe the glass is the one to blame

reminds me who should really be ashamed

 

and you're too bright, you make me fade to grey

i'll go blind if i don't look away

and my heart comes out my ribcage, turns me inside out

and i hope you won't hate me when the truth comes out

 

hello my devil, what's your name?

Let's sit down, let's play a game

love you, hate you, i guess it's the same

either way, you're nothing but pain

 

if you didn't look the way you do

the way i was supposed to be

i think i'd find it easier

to hate you instead of me.

 


	5. Is It In My Head?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: child abuse, food, PTSD/trauma flashback, implied sexual abuse.

CHAPTER THREE

 _is it in my head?_  

 

            The dumpster boy was older than six, now that I was getting a good look at him – it was the sheer amount of hair piled on his head that made him look younger. It made both Lust and I look practically bald. No, he was at least eleven or twelve, in that awkward prepubescent stage where he'd started growing like a weed but still looked like a toddler.

            I dropped my purse on the ground and sat down on the chair on one side of the bed, looking over him to Lust on the other side. I'd entered to him steadfastly ignoring her, and her trying to look like she _wasn't_ ignoring him in favour of what looked like Flappy Bird. “I don't suppose you've gotten anything out of him?” Well, I could at least be hopeful.

            She snorted, sweeping a lock of hair out of her face. “I'm a caretaker, not an interrogator.” She swore under her breath as she lost the game she was playing.

            “You're shit at both.” I turned to the boy I'd pulled out of the dumpster, curiosity mixed with an emotion I could only describe as trepidation. “Like my bed?”

            He cautiously nodded. His eyes looked like they'd been painted on, he was keeping them so wide and still. The bruise around his eye didn't look any better in the daylight, either.

            “You gonna tell me your name?”

            He slowly, firmly, shook his head.

            I shrugged. “Well, I tried. Who wants pizza?”

            “Sit down,” Lust snapped, folding her arms across her chest, phone still hanging loosely from her hand. “We're not adopting a dumpster baby. I already work two jobs to stay here, and I _certainly_ didn't sign up to be a mother.”

            I ignored her at first, moving over to the mirror and keeping my back to her and the boy as I took my earrings out. “Fine, then you can be the one to put him back in the dumpster. Or take him to the police. Is that what you want to do -?”

            There was a whimper from behind me, and I turned around, one earring still in my hand. The boy was shaking, and he shook his head violently, slapping his hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes shut.

            “He- hey -” I dropped the earring on the side table and sat down on the bed, grabbing his wrists. “No police. No social workers. We promise.” I cast a dark glance at Lust. “ _Right,_ Lust?” I didn't really think she would – no one here would – but I also knew Lust _really_ didn't like children.

            She raised her hands in surrender, only sulking mildly. “Sure, sure. No authorities.”

            He opened his eyes slowly, raising them to mine. They were bright blue, startlingly so in his drawn and pale face, and there was a thin thread of blood winding through the whites of his bruised eye. “Promise?” he asked hoarsely.

            “Promise,” I said again. I could feel Lust staring at me, probably shocked I was capable of actual human emotion. I tried to ignore it. _Nothing wrong with promises – if you're careful with them._ “Come on, we gotta call you something.”

            He shook his head again.

            “...Well, fuck. If you're staying here -”

            “-For _now-_ ” Lust interjected, not letting that pass by without her two cents.

            “Might as well get you fitting in.” I pressed a hand to my chest, grinning. “I'm Envy. The bitch over there is Lust. The noisy one upstairs is Greed.” I released his other wrist, and pressed a finger to his nose, which he wrinkled in response. “I guess that makes you Wrath.”

            “Wrath?” he repeated questioningly.

            “If you don't like it, that's your own problem.” I shrugged. “Besides, it's the only one left.”

            He nodded, and suddenly his face split into a smile. “Wrath! Okay!”

            “Good, we've got _that_ part figured out,” I groaned. “Now get out of my bed. I'm exhausted.”

            He pouted, but I could see a twinkle in his eyes. Good, he _did_ have a personality.

            “Lust, feed him something. I'm about to pass out.”

            “Me? Why _me?_ ”

            “You see anybody else here?” I grumbled, and gave Wrath a light shove. “Go annoy her for the day. I need _sleep._ ” I'd used up all my nice-person-energy for the day – oh _hell,_ for the _week._ I wouldn't be able to get the taste out of my mouth for months.

            I could see a question about to form on his lips, but he closed his mouth instead, and nodded. Well, we'd get there. Wrath climbed off the bed, and ran into the kitchen – I could hear him picking everything up and putting it back down.

            I glanced at Lust again, trying not to smirk too badly. “Have fun.”

            “I'm going to kill you in your sleep one day.”

            “I look forward to it.” I pitched forward and buried my face into the pillow. Time to ignore everything and sleep.

* * *

             _“You got coffee all over yourself,” Ed grumbled, and I couldn't help but grin at how annoyed he seemed on my behalf. He grabbed a napkin, and before I could react, he was dabbing at my chest with it._

_I felt my face turn red, and I blinked, unsure what to do. There was a cough from behind him._

_“Ed. You're doing it again,” drawled another of the students at the table._

_“Doing what – Oh! Right!” He dropped the napkin, face turning as red as mine. “S-sorry. Bad habit. Uh. Are you alright?”_

_Alright? That was kind of a matter of perspective, wasn't it? I nodded, and smiled. “Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks.”_

_I turned to go, and took a deep breath, I had to get home, and I did go home, I could remember that much, that was the end of it -_

_“Where are you going?” A hand on my arm, and this wasn't Ed, the hand was too big, too callused, and besides, he had a prosthetic on that side, I'd seen it, seen the way it moved even under the glove and coat -_

_“No kiss for me?” But it was Ed, even if he was too tall and too old, and that smile looked so wrong on his face - “I mean, it would be a shame if your mother found out. So be a good boy and do what you're TOLD -”_

My eyes snapped open.

            Lust stood over me, hand hovering over my shoulder, an uncharacteristic look of concern on her face. “You were... tossing. A lot.” Her deadpan broke a little on that last word – her vulnerability showing through, the part of her she liked to pretend nobody knew about.

            “Like you care,” I snapped. I pulled the blanket back over my head. “Go back to whatever you were doing.”

            “You should at least change out of your clothes. There's a coffee stain on that top. I can wash it for you.” She was reaching out. She was trying, anyway. I probably should have let her.

            “Stop being _nice._ It looks awful on you.” After a moment's consideration, I yanked my top over my head and handed it to her, not lifting my face from the bed more than I had to. Then I burrowed back underneath the blankets. I could still feel her hovering over me. Go away. Go away. Stop looking at me. Stop _looking at me -_

Lust walked away a few moments later, flats clicking softly on the ceramic tiles of the kitchen a room away. I could hear her say something to Wrath, and a whispered response that I could only barely catch the edge of.

            I curled my hands in my hair and pulled, until I could feel strands give way from my scalp and my scalp felt like it was on fire.

            I was fine. Everything was fine.

            I was coping.

            Nobody had to know.

 


	6. Interlude C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you like my poetry, please check out my blog at moonlitwaterwriting.tumblr.com! I consider myself a poet by trade and I'm very proud of the pieces I wrote for this fic.

INTERLUDE C

 

Come one, come all to the meeting of the fallen

Gathering of the broken, where you can fall apart

Shout it to the heavens or whisper to the worms

Pin together all the torn strips of your cindered heart

Scream into the sky or murmur to the ground

Nobody left who wants you around

Nobody cares what you have to say

Remember that lonesome sound

The last lonesome sound.

 

Hey motherfuckers got your back against the wall,

nothing to say but screaming,

nothing to do but fall,

hey motherfuckers you think you have it all,

but it's a slow descent into the time,

you've spent crying under streetlights

wondering, wondering, where it's all gone...

 

And the city never sleeps, no the city never sleeps

The city won’t sleep tonight

The city never sleeps, no the city never sleeps

The city never sleeps and the walls have eyes

Can you see us in the shadows? Can you see us in the alleys?

Do you tell yourselves how hard you tried -

The city never sleeps, the city never sleeps

The city won’t sleep tonight

 

Payback payment clipped wings blinded

Looking for your salvation but you won’t find it

Try running but you’re out of time, it’s

Too late too late too late to try

Push me, pull me, rock me row me

Retribution’s coming, say you don’t know me

No escape from what was due long ago

Sinners reap just as they sow

 


	7. Claustrophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: drugs, rough sex (implied but not shown), some borderline nsfw-ish/lime, dissociation/trauma reaction

 

 

            There was a horrid smell drifting down the stairwell, and I closed the door behind me with a disgusted sigh before stomping my way up the stairs, barging into the hallway above ours, and banging on the second door from the stairs. “Oy!”

            The door opened a chink, a chain crossing over the face that appeared at the doorway. “Who is it?”

            “You know perfectly _fucking_ well who it is.” I shoved my hand through the crevice, reached up and unhooked the chain. With a sharp push, the door fell open, and Greed staggered backwards, giving me a smirk and shrug. “I can smell your goddamn drugs down the stairs again.”

            “Can't help that you've got the most sensitive nose in history -”

            I took a step inside and slammed the door behind me. “I don't _care_ that you smoke crack -”

            “I don't smoke it, darling. I don't shit where I eat.”

            “Well, I don't care that you sell it either, or that you hand it out as a damned favour to every fucking crack whore and junkie who wanders in. But I _do_ care about having to put up with that fucking paint-peeling, nose-burning, brain-destroying _smell_ every time I go out for a _smoke!_ ”

            Greed pulled his sunglasses off of his nose and cleaned them methodically and carefully on his shirt. “Darling, I hate to tell you, I'm pretty sure there's more chemicals in that little tube of tobacco than there is in my whole flat -”

            I shoved him. It was supposed to be a normal shove – it came out stronger than I meant, and his back hit the wall by the door with a clatter. “Asshole.”

            He pushed the sunglasses back onto his face, still smirking. “Well, I'm sure I _could_ do more about the smell. But then you wouldn't tell me off so politely.”

            I found myself gritting my teeth. “Fuck you.” I drew back my fist, ready to punch those dumbass glasses off his face -

            He grabbed my wrist and took two steps forward. His breath was hot on my forehead, fingers squeezing just hard enough to hurt, the leg of his tight denim jeans sliding between my legs and against the bare skin below my lace skirt. “Well, I would, but you said last time was the _last_ time,” he mocked. “What's the matter?” He pressed a little harder between my legs, and I bit my lip, trying to stop myself from making any sound. “Changed your mind?” 

            “Nnn -” The _correct_ answer was no. That was the reasonable, rational, intelligent answer. “You're still a fucking loser,” I whispered back, trying to catch my breath.

            His other hand found its way into my hair, fingers tangling through green-and-black locks. “Uh huh. Loser, is it?” Then there were teeth on my neck as the grip on my hair tightened and pulled my head back, and I couldn't stop it this time – a guttural moan escaped my mouth, and my free hand clawed at the wall instead of doing anything useful.

            “Loser or not, you're making some delicious noises for somebody determined to stay away from me.”

            I gave in. It really wasn't worth the effort to try to be a good person. After all, I'm not – and there's something about sex you know you're not supposed to want, sex that's hard and rough and dirty and violent, that makes you crave it like a hit of nicotine.

            Or maybe that's just me.

* * *

 

            I stopped myself from falling asleep afterwards. I didn't want a repeat of this afternoon, not around someone like Greed. Instead, I stared up at his ceiling, tracing the cracks in the worn plaster and breathing in the scent of the cocaine he'd been burning before I showed up. It didn't bother me so much after a while. That was probably the scariest part of it.

            I could feel myself drifting. Maybe I was still dreaming. _I'm not supposed to feel like this anymore. It's supposed to be over._

            Greed's hand tightened on my shoulder, his face buried in the crook of my neck as he curled around me like an overgrown cat. He still had his tank top on, but it had ridden up to let his stomach press against my side. I was still pretty much fully-clothed, skirt pushed up to my waist, boots lying somewhere on the floor, bruises scattering my arms and neck -

            I sat up, pushing his arms away, and stared at my hands for a little bit trying to collect my thoughts. Then, almost on autopilot, I reached for one of my boots and started pulling it on, my ears ringing and a quiet chant starting up in the back of my head of _why do you like it so much when it hurts_ and _you are not you you are not_

_you you are not_

_you are n-_

Greed's hand landed back on my shoulder, and I started at the feeling of his warm fingers, the ring on the middle finger still cold somehow.

            “You okay?” he asked, and even the low purr of his voice wasn't enough to make everything snap back into place.

            “Of course I'm okay,” I snapped. ( _liarliarliar)_ “But I _told_ you this had to stop happening -”

            “Why?”

            I looked back over my shoulder, almost expecting him to have that predatory look on again, but he actually looked... normal. Relaxed, still breathing a little hard, but that _was_ normal.

            He smiled disarmingly. “We get along great.”

            “You slammed me into the wall so hard I'm pretty sure I broke the plaster.”

            “And you did the same to me, and _both_ of us got hard as fuck from it. I call that a success.” _Now_ he was smirking. I slapped him, but lightly. “Seriously, though, what's the big deal?” he asked again. He sat up, tousled hair falling a little into his eyes. It made him look younger – it softened the hard lines of his cheeks, hid the crows-feet that were encroaching early at the corners of his eyes. He was older than me, but I didn't know by how much. We didn't talk about personal things here. Your neighbour had a name, you called them that name, and you didn't ask questions.

            Greed, apparently, considered himself an exception.

            “I saw Ling today,” I replied quietly, even though it didn't really answer his question. “Does he look that young most of the time or just in daylight?”

            His lips curled at that, although I wasn't sure whether it was the crack about Ling's age or the fact that I'd spoken to Ling at all.  “You really don't like me, do you?”

            _Oh, you're so wrong._ “I have standards,” I shot back, and finished lacing up my boot. My heart was still hammering in my chest, but it wasn't from the sex anymore. His hand traced the back of my neck. I waited for it to tighten, for him to pull me back onto the couch and hurt me, and I would _deserve_ it because jesus, I didn't know him well but I knew him well enough to know that whatever he had with Ling, it was real. It should be beyond my snide jokes. Besides, I'd liked Greed enough to play games with him – but that had been before.

            _Before what? Be honest with yourself – before what? Hanging around at that fucking cafe is making you worse, not better -_

            “Honest question. If I paid you, would you be more comfortable around me?” It wasn't out of nowhere, really, and it wasn't a jeer or a joke – just a question. Really, just a question. Him and his goddamn – fucking – _questions -_

            I snorted, and stood up, pulling my skirt back down and adjusting my underwear. “No, but I'd fake it better.”

            He bared his teeth, and I couldn't tell whether he was grinning or grimacing. “You're a real sweetheart, aren't you?”

            “You couldn't afford me.” And again, it felt easy, it felt like it could _be_ more, but the ring on his finger and the boy in the coffeeshop and the fact that Greed was like this with _everyone,_ I wasn't some special distraction or entertainment or anything more – that stopped me. Unbidden, Edward's face rose in my mind, if only because he'd been there with Ling earlier. God, they had no idea. Fucking innocent middle-class college kids, heads in the clouds, never knowing or realizing or coming close to understanding that Greed and Lust and I were _fucked,_ we were _empty,_ we were the kinds of things they heard about in Lifetime movies and DARE videos -

            I walked out and didn't say another word. What haunted me more than anything is that I knew I was lying. It was just _me._ The rest of them were fine.

            I was the empty one.

            Greed didn't follow me. I could be happy with that, at least.

 


	8. Interlude D

 

A little glass doll

In the corner of the room

With a little lace dress

In a little black tomb

And her little glass eyes

Stare at the ceiling

Oh, her little glass heart

Is far past healing

Her little glass hands

In a desperate little prayer

Clasped in a little grip

Hovering in the air.

A little glass doll

Wasn’t always glass, you know

She was a little girl once

But that was long ago.

 


	9. Hot Boys and Cute Coffees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: anxiety/mental illness, transphobia mentioned, stalking, food.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to iruusu/judaru/Amie because she likes the Cute.

 

 

            I found myself at the coffeeshop again that morning, even though I hadn't worked that night. I don't know why. I think I was trying to convince myself that my nightmare hadn't been real – well, the _first_ half had been real. But if I could go back, erase the rest of it, remind myself that nobody here really knew me, then that might help with the sense of unease that had settled over me again. I'd been doing well for a while, too, so this was particularly irksome (although part of me did ask the obvious question of how stalking Edward was supposed to be an indicator of _good_ mental health).

            Except, I couldn't go in.

            How annoying.

            I turned away and sat on the curb, fumbling with my purse and pulling out a cigarette. It was chilly out, and I could feel myself shivering as I brought the smoke to my lips – although I wondered if I was shivering because of the cold or because of my nerves. Everything had been _fine._ Everything had been fine, and then he'd spoken to me. More than that – I laughed despite myself, head falling forward onto my knees as I tried to stop giggling – he'd pawed at my chest completely innocently. I would have been more offended, but I'd been watching long enough to know he was actually just that oblivious.

            My laughter trailed off with a sigh, and I stared at the pattern of wear on my black jeans, with their grey threads coming loose on the knees. No skirt today. Maybe that'd been a mistake. Hell, I barely even had make-up on. Maybe Edward wouldn't recognize me. Maybe he'd think I was just some skinny druggie boy skulking outside, someone else completely -

            “Hey.” There was a voice from behind me, and I swivelled around, almost dropping my cigarette. Edward stood behind me, holding two coffees and wearing an awkward grin. “We, uh, ran into each other yesterday, right?”  He bent over and handed me one of the coffees. I noticed with a distracted interest that he wasn't reacting to the heat with that hand at all, even though the steam was rising thickly from the paper cup.

            I took the coffee with a wary glance, then immediately set it down on the curb, wincing a little. “...Yeah. You tried to grope me.” Not the greatest opener, but coffee couldn't pay for charm.

            He turned bright red, switching his own coffee to the prosthetic hand and waving the newly-freed hand in the air nervously. “That was an _accident,_ I swear! I was trying to help -”

            “Trying to cop a feel, more like. Handsy, handsy.”

            He slapped his hand over his eyes, trying to hide his flush, although he probably hadn't realized that the reddest part of his face was his ears. “I'm bringing you _coffee._ Be _nice_ to me.”

            “I'm not nice to anybody.” I smirked despite myself. “Even cute boys bearing hot drinks. Or is that hot boys bearing cute drinks?"

            He spluttered again at that. “You're impossible.”

            “And yet you're still talking to me.” I took a drag on my cigarette, trying to remind myself how much actually talking to him had bothered me yesterday, but honestly, I was having too much fun. Everybody else I sassed was too used to it. “Thanks for the coffee. Any particular reason or did you mistake me for a hobo?”

            “Har har. You stood at the door for like ten minutes and then sat on the curb instead, I'm not an idiot.”

            I felt my face grow hot at that. _My_ turn to be nervous and embarrassed. “You, ah. You noticed.”

            He shrugged. “Happens.” He sat down on the curb next to me, and I tried not to watch how he got down. I knew he had a prosthetic leg as well, but it hadn't occurred to me until now how frustrating it must be to get up and down. Still, he didn't seem to have too much trouble – I _really_ tried to stop noticing. “I'm Ed.”

            I bit my tongue. I'd almost said _I know._ “Envy.”

            “Envy? For real?” At first I was going to be insulted, and then I saw the sparkle in his eyes. “Man, that is fucking _cool._ So, are there like... six others?”

            I snorted and almost inhaled some of my coffee. “You _nerd._ I can't believe you got that reference.”

            He grinned, and I thought my heart skipped a beat. He _was_ handsome – in a young, unfinished kind of way, baby-cheeked and soft-skinned. “I read Inferno when I was eleven. Is that a yes?”

            “I live with them, so yes.”

            “How'd _that_ start?”

            “Tabletop game. Ever heard of Demon: The Fallen?”

            He shook his head. “Is that like Shadowrun? Cause Shadowrun kicks ass.”

            “No, not really. It's more like...” I tapped my fingers against my lips, a couple cinders falling from my cig, then chuckled. “...Think Vampire, plus D&D, except the party wishes they had more paladins, we were all Chaotic Evil and none of us can roleplay worth a shit.”

            He choked at that, and burst into laughter, trying to stifle it with his hand. “Holy _shit,_ that sounds like a _disaster!_ ”

            His laughter was infectious, and I found my cheeks hurting from my grin. _That_ was unexpected. “Greed kept trying to seduce the monsters. Vampires, werewolves, Earthbounds – and then he rolled a 20 on one of them.”

            Ed actually looked nervous. “What happened?”

            “He got syphilis.”

            “Oh my _god,_ that's horrible! I think I love your GM.”

            I decided to keep it to myself that I'd been the game master for that particular campaign, although I'm sure I was practically glowing with pride. 'You play, then?”

            “I did. Everybody's too busy for it now, though.” He sighed at that. “I have it pretty easy cause I'm first year, but Ling and Russell and Hei are running around like crazy people even though it's only, like, October.” He blew a raspberry. “If anybody'd told me university was gonna be this _boring,_ I never would have bothered.”

            I half-smiled at that one. If he hadn't been so charming, I would have hated him more. “Want a smoke?”

            “Eh, sure, why not. What's it gonna do, make my arm fall off?”

            I snickered, almost made an inappropriate comment – then slapped my hand over my mouth, stifling it a few moments too late. “Oops,” I mumbled.

            He stuck his tongue out at me, then snatched a cigarette from my pack. “It's not like I hide them particularly well.”

            “I guess.”

            “Lighten up, Envy.” Ed stuck two cigarettes under his lips and wobbled them at me. “Life's too short not to be a walrus.”

            “Give that _back,_ you _wretch._ ” I snatched one back, dangling it from my fingers. “Ew, you got prepubescent boy spit all over it.”

            “Prepubescent?” He pulled the other one out and gaped at me in horror. “Prepu – _prepubescent??_ I'm a grown-up!”

            “Oh, sweetie.” I considered the cigarette for a moment, then put it back in my case. No point in wasting some good nicotine. “ _Honey._ ”

            “Just because I can't _vote_ yet -”

            “Oh jesus. Ed, darling -” I patted him on the head, and tried not to burst out laughing (again) at the glower he gave me. “You're a baby.”

            “I -”

            “A wet-behind-the-ears _newborn._ ”

            “ _I am no such thing!_ ” he squawked. I considered telling him that I was a full five years older than him, but I figured that could wait -

            - for _what?_ What was I _doing?_ I was sitting here _flirting_ with him, instead of – of – I didn't even know what my original plan had been. Murder fantasies? Revenge plots?

            I drew my hand back and took a long sip of my coffee, hiding my face for as long as I could. God, I was stupid. Stupid stupid _stupid -_

“You alright?”

            “Mm? Yeah, fine,” I muttered. He'd known me for all of ten minutes. He didn't get to ask that. Especially not _him,_ not the boy who'd taken everything from me, not someone with _that_ face -

            The door of the coffeeshop opened behind us, and I didn't even have to turn to see that it was Ling. I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my neck.

            “Hey, Ling! Is it time for class already?”

            “Yes, and you've missed enough of yours.” I could hear the coldness in Ling's voice, and I tightened my fingers around the paper mug, convincing myself not to turn around and hit him straight in the jaw.

            “Ha! Probably true.” The tone of Ling's voice seemed to go right over Ed's head, and he got to his feet, stumbling a little. I raised a hand to his elbow to steady him, but he batted it away. “Not like I missed anything important.” Ed gave me a backwards half-salute, turned mostly away – then back to me, with an expression on his face that meant I could practically see the lightbulb go off above his head. “Oh! Yeah! If you do any more campaigns, let me know if you want another player! I promise I'll behave myself around all the _grown-ups._ ”

            I chucked the plastic lid of my coffee in his general direction. “Yeah, sure. I'll let you know if we're looking for a bratty sidekick.” Then I caught sight of Ling's face and felt myself shrink. _I know I'm doing something wrong,_ I tried to tell him without saying anything out loud. _I'm trying to stop. I'm trying._

            This time, Ed did notice. I could see the light change a little in his eyes, but he seemed confused more than anything else. Good. Let him stay confused.

            “Anyway, see you later!” He waved goodbye, and then they were all gone, a gaggle of spirits with loud mouths and big dreams and high hopes -

            Time to go home. I was getting maudlin again.

            I got to my feet, looking down again at my tatty jeans and worn-out sneakers. Edward hadn't misgendered me _once,_ I realized. He hadn't called me a girl specifically either, but still... it was something. I guess he'd noticed that, too.

            I took a deep breath, then exhaled shakily, taking one last drag on my cigarette before crushing it under my heel. His father had never misgendered me either. It meant fuck-all about Ed, or what I could expect from him. For all I knew, he was just as bad as Hohenheim.

            I picked up the coffee and took it with me anyway. No matter what kind of person he was, he'd still bought me a drink. It wasn't worth wasting it.


	10. Interlude E

INTERLUDE E

 

blood is blood is blood

is thicker than the water

of the womb

of the covenant

of the blood

that ties our wrists

and hands

and hearts

with red string

eyelash to eyelash barely breathing

and the father son and holy ghost

with lips like fire and souls like ice

bind me to the sacrificial altar

and shame on me,

he fooled me twice.


	11. Gambler's Folly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: sex talk, Envy being a shitty person, death mention

 

            Okay, I admit it, I'm not exactly good at planning ahead. If I was good at planning ahead, I would have gone to school or something instead of fucking people for money. (In my defense, I'm apparently _very_ good at it.)

            Point being, if I'd actually given any thought to the whole 'keeping a kid in my apartment' thing, I would have realized what a pain in the ass it would be, how _woefully_ unprepared I was for the whole concept, and reminded myself that I really, really didn't want children. Sadly, I did none of these things, had none of these realizations -

            -and was thus woken up by a pair of anime eyes staring into my _soul._

Or, in other words, Wrath the great and terrible had decided to look _very very_ closely to see if I was awake. That explained the poking in my side. “Envy?” he whispered. It wasn't so much a whisper as a stage whisper, which meant it was actually _really fucking loud._

I raised my arm over my eyes and grumbled in his general direction. I couldn't tell what time of day it was, but I could tell it was day – so, by definition, too damn early. “...What are you doing?” I mumbled.

            “Somebody's at the door,” he whispered, and now I could hear how scared he was.

            “Did they say who it was?” I mumbled, trying to sound more concerned. I mean, it _could_ be bad. There were all sorts of illegal things happening in this building, and I was only good at lying after 10 pm. Still, I was too tired to care quite as much as I really should. I pushed myself upright, pulling tangled strands of green out of my face. “Like, was it Toronto PD, open up?”

            “No, he just asked if you were home.”

            “Ugh.” I flung one leg out of bed, then remembered I slept naked. “Oh. Right. Uh, grab me a robe or something, will ya?”

            Wrath had already covered his eyes, and he nodded frantically, walking in the wrong direction. I grabbed his shoulders and gently pointed him the other way, where he proceeded to grab a blanket and shove it at me. Well, it'd do. I wrapped it around my waist and stumbled towards the door, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “What bloody _time_ is it? Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested, okay?”

            I opened the door.

            Greed smirked down at me.

            I slammed the door in his face. I was going back to fucking _bed._

“Oh, you're just as charming as ever today, aren't you?” came his muffled voice from the other side of the door.

            “I don't remember inviting you, fuckhead!”

            “At least offer me a drink or something!”

            I opened the door again. It was too early for yelling. Well, for me. “Shouldn't you be fucking your boyfriend?”

            “His first assignment's due or something. I thought you'd be happier we weren't waking you up.”

            I sighed. “I _would_ be. Except you're _here._ ”

            Greed was about to say something else, undoubtedly filthy and uncalled for, when he caught sight of something over my shoulder. I turned to look. Wrath was peering around the corner from the kitchen, looking particularly fey-like with only one eye visible. “Well, hi there. Have we met?” he said in a tone I'd never heard from him, kind and low and curious.

            He pushed past me into the apartment - “well, ex- _cuse_ you -” - and stood in the entrance, hands in his pockets. “What's your name?”

            Wrath shrank a little, but when Greed smiled at him, he popped his head out and returned the smile. “Wrath!”

            “Oh, _Wrath,_ is it?” He smirked at me. “Wonder who gave you _that_ one.”

            “Shut up,” I grumbled. “Wrath, this is Greed. He's one of the other ones.”

            “Have we ever even had seven?” he mused out loud. “I mean, we haven't even had a game in six months.”

            “A game?” Wrath gave me a curious stare.

            “Don't start at me about the game, Greed,” I grumbled again. I wanted _bed._ None of this was sounding like _bed._ “It's not my fault everybody else started sleeping at night.”

            “You could do this magical thing called working a day job.”

            I rubbed my neck distractedly. I didn't really want to think about it. “Been there, done that, didn't work out too good.”

            Something tugged gently on the blanket still wrapped clumsily around my waist. Wrath had crept out of the kitchen and was at my elbow. “Tell me about the game,” he demanded, voice growing a little more confident. He seemed to like Greed. _Why,_ I had no concept.

            “Ever heard of tabletop?”

            He shook his head.

            “RPG?”

            He shook his head again, looking confused. I could hear Greed snickering at me. “So are you gonna tell me how you ended up with a kid? I can't imagine him being _yours_ somehow.”

            “ _No,_ ” I snapped. “Besides, I would've had to be like, thirteen.”

            “Knowing you?” Greed shot back, then loped across the room, sprawling across my couch. “C'mon, kid. I'll tell you all about Dungeons and Dragons.”

            Wrath buried his face in the collar of his shirt, but I could hear his murmured response. “...Dragons are cool.”

            Jesus fucking christ on a _stick._

“I'm going back to bed. You can feed him.”

            “Oh come on!” Greed laughed, and reached a hand out to me. “We can tell him all about the great adventures of my Slayer.”

            “Great, yeah. That's the word.” I realized I was smiling, despite all my attempts not to. I had missed playing – these days the only people I talked to on a regular basis were Lust and some of my returning clients, and Greed when I told him off about the stink of his crack pipes. Pride was busy at a real job, the kind with a salary and benefits, I only saw Gluttony in passing when Lust took him out for a walk or to the store, and Sloth…well, Sloth had moved away as well. Or at least that’s what we all assumed. He’d just disappeared one day, and a new tenant had moved in shortly afterwards.

            “Okay, you tell him about Greed the Slayer. I need to put clothes on.”

            “Well, you don't _have_ to.” Greed leered, and I was tempted to chuck the blanket at his head. Wrath looked grossed out enough as it was, though, and it was starting to sink in that I was shirtless and exposed in front of... er, well, the person I was trying to stop having sex with.

            _Yep._ Clothes. Clothes were a _super_ great idea.

            I disappeared back into my room, kicking the door closed behind me, but I could hear Greed's voice drifting through the thin wall, explaining in remarkably clear terms what exactly a tabletop RPG was. “It's like playing pretend, except with rules so that everybody knows what they're doing.”

            “Rules? Why do you need rules?”

            I shrugged a loose black top over my head, stopping for a moment to listen. It wasn't that Wrath didn't _talk –_ it was just that he didn't actually _say_ much. An actual question was something new. I guess I was sort of thankful Greed had stopped by, after all.

            I grabbed a pair of leggings, but sat down on the bed, taking the space away from them to breathe. I was still drowsy, my mind going in five directions at once, half-remembered dreams or nightmares lingering in the corners of my vision. _Lust is working during the days,_ I remembered. _And I work at night. We need help. We can't do this alone._

Lust's implication, never quite voiced, and certainly never in front of Wrath, that the authorities _should_ be involved, swam to the forefront of my mind. My fingers tightened on the leggings – It wasn't an option. Besides, I hadn't seen any missing posters, or announcements on the TV or local news sites. Whoever he was, nobody was missing him. Nobody cared he was gone.

            It bothered me more than it should – but that was fine. He could stay here, and -

            “So what if I want to like.... choke out a dragon?”

            Greed laughed. The sound of it was contagious, and I bit my lip to stop myself from snickering at the image of Wrath putting a wyvern in a chokehold. “Oh man. That's when you use grapple, but that's a total pain in GURPs.”

            “GURPs?”

            “One of the systems you can use. Pathfinder's similar, but there's only one real setting.”

            “I'm confused. What's a system?”

            I bit my lip again. I wasn't listening, I _wasn't_ listening, and I wasn't going to burst out there and try to explain it because there was no way I'd do a good job of it.

            “It's like...” Greed paused, thinking. “Okay, so a system is a different set of rules for a different kind of game. Dungeons and Dragons is for fantasy – like, swords, shields, dragons, that whole thing.”

            “Okay...”

            “But if you want to play a game with giant steam-powered robots and cities and stuff, you might pick Iron Kingdoms instead. They all work a little differently.”

            “Did you say _steam-powered robots?_ ”

            I shook my head in exasperation. Playing with a twelve-year-old was going to be interesting.

            “What's your favourite?”

            “My _favourite?”_

I slid the leggings on, listening intently. We didn't ask questions. We didn't share details of each other's lives, even things like favourite systems or colours or foods -

            “...Probably FATAL -”

            “Don't you _dare!_ ”

            It slipped out before I could stop myself, and Greed snickered, calling back from the other room, “I _knew_ you were listening!”

            “It's a shitty tiny apartment, fuck off,” I grumbled, flushing a little. I stuck my head out the door, scowling at him.  “Rule one, Greed, rule _one._ You teach him about FATAL and I will nail you to the wall.”

            “Is that a promise?” Right on cue, the eyebrow waggle – good _god,_ he needed to stop being so attractive. Especially with Wrath in the room.

            I rolled my eyes, then glanced at Wrath. His eyes were – well, they were _sparkling._ I hadn't seen him so alive since he'd shown up, and even the shy smile playing around his lips was new. Jealousy sprang up in my chest, completely unbidden – why'd it have to be _Greed_ of all people who managed to get Wrath to smile?

            “Can we play an RPG sometime?” he burst out, and then stuffed his knuckles against his mouth, flushing like he'd said something horrible. “I – I mean,” he backtracked, “it sounds interesting, I -” He lapsed into silence again, biting his lip.

            I gave Greed a look. He shrugged, mouthing _why not?_ \- and with a sudden burst of inspiration, I remembered what Edward had said earlier. Why not, indeed? Aside from the fact that inviting the boy you're stalking to hang out with a runaway and your current fuck-buddy produces all of its own problems – but I'd done stupider things with _wonderful_ results.

            _You're making up an excuse to talk to him again. Remind me how much you hate him?_

I ignored the voice as much as humanly possible. “Yeah, I guess we can do that. Greed, you up for a new campaign?”

            Greed raised an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, sure. It'll have to be a new one, though. We're missing too many of the guys from Demon.”

            “That's fine. Wrath needs something a little simpler for his first game, anyway.” It felt good, talking about campaigns again. I'd been so... so... well, out of it, really. I didn't really know _why,_ just that the last week, the last few weeks, had felt like a fog. Funny – I hadn't thought about it until now, until I'd started talking about something I loved and felt the spark reignite in my chest.

            Wrath raised his hand meekly. “Uh, what's rule one?”

            Greed started laughing again, and I shot him another vicious glare. “Rule one is _don't talk about FATAL._ ”

            “Aww.” Wrath lowered his hand.

            “Trust me, it's for your own good.” Greed got to his feet, stretching out in such a way that made me rather _too_ acutely aware of the muscles in his arms. Bastard. “Well, I have to get going. Wrath, let the lady get her sleep.”

            “Okay!” Wrath scampered off to his room, and I stifled a snicker. He really _was_ excited.

            “Envy.”

            I glanced up at Greed. He was looking oddly serious. I didn't know when I'd last seen him look so... I don't even know. It was more than just serious. He was _concerned._ “What is it?”

            He inclined his head outside. I followed him outside into the hall, closing the door behind me. “Look, showing up at my house to bother me when I'm trying to sleep is _one_ thing, but -”

            He shook his head, tugging a cigarette from his breast pocket and clamping it between his lips. I wondered what had him so stressed, and then pushed the thought away. It wasn't any of _my_ business. Then, finally, he spoke. “I'm – worried about you.”

            “ _Worried?_ ” I nearly laughed. Like he could get any more ridiculous. “Please. It's bad enough that you keep trying to get all cute.” My smile faded – he didn't look amused. If anything, he looked _more_ stressed.

            “Listen, En – I like you, okay? We're – well, not _friends,_ but we _could_ be, and we had our campaign, and then that stopped, and you started coming to see me -” He ran a hand through his hair, gelled spikes falling forward onto his forehead and into his eyes, then took a deep breath.

            “If this is a love confession, I'm pretty sure I've made my stance on _those_ pretty clear,” I added wryly.

            “For _fuck's_ sake, could you take me seriously for two seconds?”

            “Why should I?” I crossed my arms, leaning against the wall. “I don't know how you got this idea that I cared so much about what you thought.”

            “ _That's_ why I'm so worried,” he mumbled.

            “Again, why is this your problem?”

            “It's my problem after the fifth time you show up at my door, screw me and then tell me repeatedly how much you don't like me.” He held up his hands. “And fine, yeah, not my business, but now you've adopted some runaway kid? Do you even know his _name?_ ”

            The smile I'd managed to keep on my face faded. “Fuck off,” I snarled. “We had an _agreement._ You don't ask me questions, and I don't ask you any.”

            “Envy, something's _wrong_ and you won't -”

            “Yeah, yeah, we've all got problems. You've got a dead wife, but I don't make it _my_ problem, do I?”

            I'd love to say that I regretted it the moment I said it. It'd make me sound like a better person. It'd make me sound _human,_ is what. Truth be told, I held onto that vindictiveness long enough to enjoy how he froze at that, how he didn't say a fucking word. It shut him up, that was for sure.

            He walked away – and then the remorse set in. “Greed, wait -”

            “Catch ya later, darling.” He didn't even turn to look at me.

            _I didn't mean to,_ I wanted to say, except I had, I had meant to, I'd wanted him out of my face and he'd obliged, which was better than hitting me like he'd probably wanted to -

            _Better off anyway. Haven't you been trying to stay away from him?_

“Yeah. Whatever.”

            So much for the things I loved. I thought about going back inside. I decided to leave instead – after all, there would always be people looking for a warm body, someone to whisper sweet lies to them and help them forget what lay past daybreak. At least _somebody_ needed me.

 


	12. Interlude F

INTERLUDE F

 

there’s a hole in her cheek

a place where she’s seared away skin

there’s a hole in her cheek and she doesn’t remember how it got there.

there’s a hole in her cheek and it keeps getting bigger.  


there’s a hole in her chest

a place where something is missing

there’s a hole in her chest and she doesn’t remember how it got there.

there’s a hole in her chest and it keeps getting bigger.  


she would ask for help, she knows she could

she’d reach out, she’d beg, she’d scream, she would

but there’s a hole in her tongue and she doesn’t remember how it got there

there’s a hole in her tongue and it keeps getting bigger.


	13. Sometimes What It Looks Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry about the delay! I wanted to get two chapters up a day but the last few days have been….rough, work-wise. I'll try to keep to the two-chapter schedule today and tomorrow, but nothing is guaranteed.
> 
> TW: sex work referenced, stalking referenced, trans issues/passing issues discussed briefly

 

            I was smart, this time. I waited longer than usual to go to the coffeeshop, until after the morning rush had subsided and the sun was firmly in the sky. Of course, by then I was exhausted – Greed had already woken me up several hours earlier than normal, and by now, I'd usually be back in bed, or at least have another coffee in me.

            Still, it was worth it to avoid running into Ling. I was used to being disliked or distrusted – being actively _hated_ was a whole new level of uncomfortable. The other uncomfortable bit was the fact that I'd apparently been watching Goldilocks long enough to know his friends' schedules, but I brushed that off. It wasn't _that_ weird.

            I checked my phone. Nine-thirty – good a time as any. I walked through the door, trying to look as normal as possible, and like I wasn't sore from head to toe.

            And, just as planned, there he was, head bowed over a book and steam still rising from what was probably his third or fourth coffee of the day. I doubted he'd even gone to class – he looked rather comfortable.

            I swallowed my nerves as best as I could, walked in and took the seat across from him, round table wobbling a little. “Hey there.” It was a little _overly_ casual, but considering I'd spent the last hour and a half trying to figure out the least creepy greeting, it'd do.

            He held up a finger.

            “Uh...”

            “One sec,” he mumbled, other hand moving over the page in front of him. I could see some equations and fancy-looking diagrams. There was no way he was reading that fast, though -

            He flipped the page, finger still held up in my direction. I wasn't sure whether I was more confused or offended. “Should I-”

            “One sec,” he said again. I ducked my head, trying to get a look at his eyes, and quickly wished I hadn't.

            “How on _earth_ are you -”

            “One sec!” He flipped the page again, reaching the end of the chapter, and then looked up with exasperation. The exasperation quickly dissolved into an awkward smile. “...Hi. Sorry.”

            I raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “Hi. I can talk now, right?”

            His ears burned red, and I resisted the urge to reach forward and flick one of them. They were pierced, I realized, although only one of them had anything in it, a small silver hoop. “Yes,” he mumbled, closing the book and marking the page with a finger.

            “Advanced Engineering?” I read the title. “Aren't you in first year? ...Aren't you in first year _biochem?_ ”

            Ed laughed at that, ears still red. “Yeah, this is my prof's. We actually had a really cool discussion about chemical engineering the other day, and he lent me this.” He paused for a sec. “Okay, _technically_ he lent me the first year one. I got this one from the library. But it's the thought that counts.”

            “...You are the biggest nerd I've ever met.” Thankfully, he hadn’t stopped to wonder how I knew his major. That one had slipped out.

            “Says the one who goes by her D&D character name.” He grinned – but I must have made some expression or reacted somehow, because his face fell a little. “It _is_ her, right? I didn't screw up?”

            I snorted. “Yes, I'm a girl.”

            He avoided my eyes, staring down at his book. “Sorry. I just – sorry.”

            “Nah, it's good to check. Besides, you got it right the first time.”

            He smiled at that, hand reaching up to play with the hoop in his ear. “A lot of people still assume I'm a girl,” he said quietly. “Cause my hair's long and I guess my voice is still pretty high.”

            I wasn't sure how to respond. I was a bit too busy trying not to fall over.

            I'd had _no idea._

He blinked, looking back up at me. “Envy?”

            “Uh – nothing.” _He's trans??? He's a trans guy???_ Logically, I shouldn't have been so surprised. It wasn't like I didn't know passing was a thing.

            But – but -

            Wow.

            Okay.

            “You pass really well,” I offered lamely, cringing a little inwardly. I hated hearing that from people, and if I'd kept my mouth shut for two more seconds, I would have figured out something better to say.

            He just shrugged, smiling again. “I guess.”

            _You guess? You – guess?_ I took a deep breath. “So where's the rest of your clique?”

            “They're not my _clique,”_ he snorted, distracted from whatever thoughts had been going through his head. “Ling and Russ have class. And Alfons has work.”

            “And you're just hanging out.”

            “Well, I have class, technically. I just didn't want to go today.”

            There was something kind of annoying about that, but I took it in stride. I mean, I'd met him twice, and I'd already figured out you just kinda had to take him in stride generally. “So what are you doing tonight?”

            The flush that had been lingering on his ears spread to suffuse his entire face. “What am I what now?”

            “Tonight.” Oh, this was fun. “Friends and I were talking about another tabletop game – maybe Iron Kingdoms. Are you interested?”

            The flush only deepened in colour. “O-oh. Right. Uh, yeah. That sounds really cool.”

            “Fair warning, though, one of our new people is a twelve-year-old who's getting into it.” I smiled wryly. “He's...enthusiastic.”

            “Sounds fun to me.” He pulled a bookmark from his pocket and slid it into his book, freeing up his other hand. “What's a twelve-year-old doing hanging out with you? I'd be worried you'd eat him alive.”

            “I'm not _that_ scary,” I sniffed.

            “You're a bit intimidating.” Ed smirked. “Just enough to make me wonder about the twelve-year-old.”

            “How am I _intimidating?_ ”

            “You're twice my height, easily five years older than me and intensely gorgeous?”

            I swatted him gently on the head, hoping he couldn't see _me_ blushing. “Seven, by the way.”

            “Seven what -? Seven _years?”_ Ed's jaw dropped. “You're twenty-five?”

            “Twenty-four, technically.”

            “Okay, well, _fine._ That's _six._ I turn eighteen in like, a week.”

            I smirked, flicking his nose. “Uh-huh. Six, then.”

            “Still, though. You're all grown-up and stuff.” He narrowed his eyes, grin spreading. “What's it like to be _ancient?_ ”

            “Oh, you – shut up. Get your laughs in while you can – you'll be crotchety like me one day.”

            He snickered some more, then eyes flickered down to my empty hands. “No coffee?”

            “Hm? Oh, hadn't gotten to it.” Actually, I'd forgotten my purse when I'd left the house. I'd kind of just.... left. “Besides, I don't really need any.” I was lying again, and I wasn't sure how convincing it actually sounded – I was _exhausted._ I had about four hundred dollars tucked into my bra, but I felt like it might draw a bit of attention to pay for a two-dollar coffee with a fifty – and I really didn't want Ed thinking about how it was I'd earned said money.

Ed rested his chin on his hand. “You want one?”

            “Mm? What?”

            “A _coffee._ Do you want one?”

            I was flushing again. Dammit. “I – guess? I -”

            He got to his feet, already digging in his pocket, and headed to the counter. I would have stopped him, but I was really, _really_ tired, and it was hard to say no to a shot of caffeine. At this point I probably wouldn't have minded getting it intravenously.

            Five minutes later, he handed me a _very_ big, very pretty coffee, with a pattern in the steamed milk on top and everything.

            “The barista like you or something?”

            Ed shrugged, sitting down across from me. “I think she does? I'm not sure. I'd hate to have to let her down.”

            I glanced over to the barista – a brown-skinned girl with dyed pink bangs, who was _definitely_ sneaking glances at Ed from under her ugly, uniform-standard baseball cap. She'd be gorgeous out of her work clothes. “Not your type?”

            “I don't think _anybody's_ my type. And if they are, I think it's mostly guys.”

            I'm not sure why that disappointed me so much. I knew exactly what I wanted from him, and it had nothing to do with romance or sex. Honest. “Only mostly?”

            “I dunno.” He avoided my gaze again, and his flush came back again. It kept coming and going – the boy had a face like a traffic light. “There’s... a couple girls. Uh – is that tabletop thing starting tonight, then?”

            Well. That was a transparent change of subje-

            -subj-

            - _oh._

His face still red enough to stop a highway in its tracks, Ed bent over, yanking his laptop out of his bag. “I think I have an Iron Kingdoms character sheet somewhere in here – it's based off of D&D 3.5, so it's not so hard, and besides, I've always wanted to play a Warcaster, it's such a cool concept -”

            What a _dweeb._

I interlaced my fingers under my chin. “So when you call me intimidating -”

            “I have no idea what you're talking about,” he pronounced with an air of finality, setting his computer onto the table.

            “Uh-huh. Aren't I a little old for you?”

            He _squeaked._ Like a tiny little blond mouse. It was the cutest thing I'd seen all day. He opened his computer, crouched behind the screen – and his hand rising up from behind it, he flipped me the bird.

            “I'm not sure whether I'm more amused at your reaction or awed by the fact that you can do that with your fake hand.”

            “Fuck _off,_ ” he whined, so I could tell he didn't actually mean it.

            “You've met me _twice -_ ”

            “Three times,” he muttered. “I tried to catch you, then you came back and we actually talked, and now you're here. So that's three.”

            “Okay, you've met me three times.”

            “And you've been sitting in the corner reading awesome books for like, _months._ So fucking sue me.”

            I found myself a little nonplussed at that. “You've been noticing me for that long?”

            “You got green hair and about five earrings an ear. You stand out a bit.” He paused, and then stammered, “I-in the good way.”

            “Tell that to Ling,” I grumbled – and then the pieces came together, _again._ “Oh! _That's_ why he -”

            “Keeps trying to stare a hole into you?” Ed finished my sentence. “He’s....a little overprotective.”

            “A little? I've been _reading books!_ ”

            “This is Ling,” Ed snorted. “That was probably a mark against you.”

            I knew it wasn't the full story – Ling's comments hit a little close to home for him to be completely ignorant of what was going on – but it helped. “So you wanna come over?” _I can make him tell me,_ came the sly, dark voice that had gotten me started on this godawful path to begin with. _It'll be private enough. He can tell me everything I need to know._

On the heels of this train of thought, as my eyes lingered on Ed's lips for a little longer, I was seized with the sudden urge to lean forward and kiss him. I wondered how he'd taste -

            “Yeah, that'd be cool.”

            “O-okay.” I stood up, probably a little suddenly, then remembered to snatch my coffee. “Uh – it's this way.”

            “Really? You sure it isn't in the back of the store?”

            “Shut up.”

            _This wasn't supposed to happen._ I wasn't interested in _him._ Or, I was, but it had nothing to do with – I – I just needed to know _about_ him. I was satisfying curiosity.

            And now my curiosity was telling me that he would look _very_ cute in my bed.

            Of _all_ the people to crush on.... Like my life wasn't fucking weird enough.


	14. Interlude G

 

                                                                                   

i’m blinded by

the stars in the headlights of your eyes

in the dark road 

put down your high-beams

let me stay a while.

i’m blinded by

the scars in your voice in the emptiness of time

would you believe I have them too?

I’m blinded by

the waterlight you shine

I could drown in you.


	15. When the Sun is Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: parental abandonment and abuse, accidental/casual transphobia/racism/ableism mentioned and discussed

 

            When I was little – before I started calling myself Envy and wearing dresses and makeup everywhere like I thought I was somebody – I stopped sleeping. It took three days for my mother to notice, and I'm surprised she did at all, but when I started blacking out every time I stood up, I guess it's hard to ignore.

            Even then, though, she just told me to fix it. To stop pleading for attention.

            So I slept again, for a little while. It would happen in fits and bursts, but I could at least fake my way through the days.

            A week after I turned seven, my mother brought another man home. It wasn't like it was the first time, but this time, he stayed. He just kept coming back, and what's more, he knew my name. He actually said hi to me, and more than once, he'd find me in my room past midnight reading and ask if something was wrong. We got used to it – the two of us being awake when it was pitch black and star-studded outside. Dante could have him when the sun was up, but the moment the day was over and the light had gone, he belonged to me.

            He left after two years.

            And now, fifteen years later, I knew why – he'd gone to be with his other family, his real children, instead of the broken and quiet boy he'd semi-adopted, the boy with hair too long and thin cheeks and skirts hidden in the back of his closet. 

            I couldn't blame him.

* * *

            I already knew I lived in a shithole, but there was something about bringing someone new into this part of town – ironically, only about ten minutes from campus even walking – that made it look even worse. The graffiti smeared over the bottom floors, underwear hanging carelessly from balconies to dry, even a Confederate flag displayed boldly on one of the top floor windows – it didn't come across as welcoming.

            I could feel Ed hesitate a little next to me, and I tried to dig my hands into my pockets until I remembered I was wearing work clothes – short skirt, blouse, high heels. No wonder my feet were sore. “It's home,” I said non-committally. Then I remembered what he'd revealed to me earlier - “I've never had any trouble here, and you pass better than I do.”

            “You sure?”  he mumbled.

            “I'm sure. One guy called me a nasty name and I think Greed made him swallow his own fist.” My heart twinged at that. _Greed._ I hadn't meant to be so nasty – I just wanted him to leave me alone. I'd worry about that later. It wasn't the meanest thing I'd ever said. He'd get over it. I took Ed's hand, smirking at the blush that spread over his face, and led him inside.

            “Come on, up the stairs.”

            He eyed the winding steps ruefully. “You didn't tell me there'd be _stairs.”_

“I can give you a hand if you're worried about rusting up. No elevator.”

            “I'm pretty sure that's against fire code.”

            “This entire building's against fire code. Panicking yet?”

            He smoothed down his hair (one unruly strand still poking up at the ceiling) and shook his head, taking a deep breath. “Nope.” It didn't sound all that convincing. I figured I'd leave the teasing at that, though – he seemed to walk okay, but I did feel like kind of a jerk making him walk up a bunch of stairs.

            By floor four, it was just _funny._ “What's the matter?”

            “I'm _exhausted,_ you _prick_!” he wheezed, learning on his knees.

            “How can your legs be tired? One of them's metal.”

            “Har de har har. You're a fucking genius. Come here so I can – _huff -_ congratulate you on the scientific breakdown of – _huff –_ the year.”

            I leaned over the railing of the next switchback, doing my best imitation of the Cheshire Cat. “Only two flights left to go!”

            “Yeah. Great. Wonderful.”

            “And just think, later, you get to walk down, too!”

            “One of these days I'm going to introduce you to a little something called the AODA and use it as kindling to burn this place down.”

            A thought occurred to me. “So what'd you do before you got those?”

            “Had a real leg. What did you think?”

            “No, I mean – were you ever in a wheelchair?"

            His head snapped up to look at me. “...And where's that question coming from?” he asked warily.

            I probably could have tried harder to be politically correct – but my experience with these things, at least from _my_ angle, is that the harder somebody tries, the more painfully obvious it is they don't know what they're talking about. “Just wondering what you'd do if you had wheels and you were faced with these stairs.”

            “Nothing. You can't get up.”

            “At all?”

            “Nope.”

            I suppose that should have been a no-brainer but for whatever reason it really hadn't occurred to me. “...You want a hand?”

            Ed grinned at that. “I'm good. Unless you wanna carry me.” He stretched his arms above his head, then made his way up the rest of the steps towards me. “For future reference, though, you probably shouldn't ask every disabled person you meet if they've ever been in a wheelchair.”

            “Hey, I'm not good at this nice-person shit. My roommate makes internment jokes at me all the time – I don't have a good frame of reference.”

            “Internment-? Oh, you're Japanese?”

            I pulled a face at him. “ _Half._ And I don't know where you _thought_ I was from.”

            “You only need to call a Chinese boy Mexican once before you learn your lesson about assuming things,” he replied with an awkward grin. “This is the right floor, yeah? Or are you gonna drag me up another set?”

            “I refuse to take responsibility for your lack of wings,” I grumbled back, opening the door for him (I could afford to be a _little_ bit nice) and letting it swing shut behind me. We were in the hallway now, and I could hear voices drifting through the wall, getting louder as we approached my apartment -

            My heart dropped into my stomach.

            _Greed. I can hear Greed. He's probably telling Lust what I said – and I ran off on Wrath, she'll yell at me for that, I -_

Then, feeling Ed's concerned glance, I got ready to brush it off – and started listening.

            “You're cornered by goblins.”

            “I punch 'em in the face!”

            “Okay, you have to roll for that.”

            “What? I have to roll _dice_ to see if I can punch 'em in the _face?_ ”

            A dry chuckle – Lust was there too. “Roll your initiative first, dear.”

            “Initiawhatsit?”

            “Initiative. You don't automatically get to go first.” She sounded amused by the whole thing. I wondered if she'd join the game again – I certainly hoped so. _As long as she doesn't try to bring Scarface._

            Wrath whined, but I could tell he was having fun. “But I want to punch _them_ in the face. I don't want them to punch _me_ in the face.”

            “You'll live.”

            I snuck a look over at Ed, who was smothering giggles by effectively shoving his fist in his mouth. “Classy,” I whispered, then putting my keys away, I opened the door.

            “Hey,” I called out, relatively quietly. Greed raised his head, and we made eye contact for a second – then I broke it, walking over to the table that was covered with character sheets, doodles and dice. “This feels familiar.”

            Lust snorted at that. “Can you believe I'm getting roped into this silliness again?”

            “Shame Pride's gone.” Greed automatically dropped his hand to the edge of the table, catching a die victimized by an overly-vigorous throw. “Okay, that was a 17, that's pretty good. Looks like you get to go first after all.”

            “Yay! I'm the _best._ ”

            I turned and nodded at Ed, who gave an awkward wave. “Guys, this is Ed. You cool with him joining the campaign?”

            “Sure. You're cool, yeah?” Greed returned Ed's wave with a salute. “We don't have any sins left, sorry.”

            Ed rolled his eyes at that, then knelt down, untying his laces. “Because being named after a deadly sin was on my bucket list.”

            Greed laughed, then jabbed in Ed's direction with a thumb, looking up at Lust. “I like this one.”

            “Hands off.” Lust smacked Greed's hand with a small smile. “It's not like Envy brings boys home a lot.”

            “Wh-what _are_ you two, my wingmen?” I sauntered over behind the couch, leaning over the back of it in the same way Lust was, overlooking the surprisingly-cute interaction. I whispered to Lust, “Watch his face. It's adorable.”

            “Oh my _god,_ ” she whispered back. “He looks like he could glow in the dark.”

            “I CAN HEAR YOU!”

            “Don't mind us.” Lust flapped her wrist at him. “We're professional flirters by trade.”

            “Anyway, you guys wanna get out some character sheets?” I said quickly. I didn't want Ed reading _too_ much into that comment.

            “Sounds good to me.” Greed stretched his arms, the muscles in them stretching. I caught myself staring and found something else to stare at. “Who's DM?”

            “I have the most experience, and I have a bunch of unused campaign ideas from last time.” I grabbed the chair at the head of the table, span it around and straddled it, grinning. I was in _charge._ And damn, it felt good. “Ladies, gentlemen and tiny little Tarzan brats – let’s get started.”

 


	16. Interlude H

I put my face into the bowl of sky

breathed stardust into my lungs.

it filled me up until I was choking

and then I wheezed and coughed

and exhaled

a universe


	17. The Fellowship of the Coffee Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of Envy Week, and as such, the update schedule is going to reduce to once a week! I'll try to post on Friday nights, so you don't have to wait a full week for the next chapter.
> 
> TW: food, sex references, not-incest-but-kinda-close-to-it discussed

            “I punch him in the face!”

            Greed sighed, moving his hand to cover his grin. “You can’t punch _everyone_ in the face. You gotta try diplomacy.”

            “But he’s a _bad guy._ ”

            “You sure?” Greed tapped the side of his nose. “You can’t know for _sure._ ”

            Wrath screwed up his face, thinking. “….Well, I think he’s a bad guy anyway.” Then he gave an exaggerated gasp. “In _fact…_ I think you’re _working_ with him!”

            “What?” Greed yelped. “What kind of response is _that?_ ”

            “Either he’s a good guy and you’re telling the truth.” Wrath narrowed his eyes. “ _Unlikely,_ since you’re a rogue and you’ve stolen everything I own at least once this evening. Or you’re _both_ bad guys and you’re trying to put me at ease so you can steal everything again. And probably kill me.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “…I swing at… what’s his name again?” He grabbed Greed’s character sheet. “Alucard, with my Ogrun Warcleaver.”

            “You little _shit!_ ”

            Lust chuckled lightly, prodding Greed in the shoulder. “This is what you get for trying to teach a twelve-year-old critical thinking skills, you know. Take it with grace, dear. Roll for damage.”

            “Envy, you _cannot_ be letting this happen.”

            I shrugged. “He’s got a point.”

            “He _does?_ ”

            “Okay, he definitely hit you. Damage - let’s see… sneak attack, 2d6 damage, and high crit chance…” I grinned. “Well, you survived. But you better make a damn good case for yourself before he hits you again.” Beat. “Also, Loser Larry runs off with the money pouch you dropped when you were hit, and yells ‘Thanks!’ over his shoulder for your _valiant_ attempts to defend him.”

            “Son of a bitch!” Greed glared at Edward. “ _Please_ tell me you’re doing _something._ ”

            “We should keep him alive,” Ed replied. “I mean, who else are we gonna use to set off the traps?”

            Wrath paused. “…You have a point.” He glanced at me. “Did I hurt him too badly?” he asked with a note of concern.

            “Broken nose, shattered left humerus and a very, _very_ injured pride. He can walk fine, though.”

            “Great! We should tie him up.”

            I snorted despite myself. “And is our lovely Warcaster priest going to do anything about this unexpected turn of events?” I asked Lust.

            “Not a thing. I’ll heal him once he apologizes for copping a feel.”

            “In-game fondling is not the same as real fondling!”

            “It’s called being in-character, sweetie.”

            I rolled my eyes and took another sip of my coffee. “Well, with Alucard tied up, Conan the Barbarian feeling vindicated, and both Deathstroke and Miss Mary somehow _letting_ this ridiculousness happen, I think that’s a good place to end things for tonight. Especially since the sun’s coming up and I _still_ haven’t gotten any sleep.”

            “No wonder you’re being so nice,” Ed grinned. “You’re running on espresso and whipped cream.”

            “Yes, and that’s quickly running out, because _somebody_ doesn’t know when to stop stealing my coffee.”

            Ed grinned, reaching for his own cup – only to have it stolen out from under him by Wrath. “He-hey! You’re too young for that -!”

            “But it’s _yummy._ ”

            Ed looked up at Greed. “How long has he been doing that?”

            “No idea. But it explains a lot about this campaign.”

            I grunted and got up from my chair. My butt had gotten numb somewhere during the last few hours. “Okay, all of you out.”

            “I live here,” replied Lust flatly.

            “Uh – do I have to go too?” Wrath asked nervously.

I patted him on the head. “You’re fine. Greed’s just so big he counts as multiple people.”

“ _Wow._ ” Greed got to his feet with a decided huff. “I’m just – All of you can go _fuck_ yourselves, really.”

“Aw, someone bitter over being tied up?” I cooed.

“I’m bitter over being tied up by a twelve-year-old. Sue me.” He yanked the coffee from Wrath’s hands, taking a few backwards steps towards the door. “Same time next week?”

Lust nodded her assent, and Ed shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

“Nobody asked you, _Deathstroke._ ”

“Shut up, Conan.”

Wrath’s response was to stick out his tongue, and dip his hand back into the bag of Doritos, fishing for a big one. Ed beckoned at him. “C’mon, gimme some before they’re all gone. I gotta go soon but you’re not stealing all my Cool Ranch.”

“I still think you’re disgusting for eating those.” Lust curled her lip slightly, watching the chips go around with a faint look of horror.

Ed shrugged. “Your loss,” he mumbled with a full mouth, and Wrath snickered as Lust’s eyes narrowed.

“ _Get out of my house._ ”

“Yeah, yeah. I need to get back before the dining hall closes anyway.”

“Ooohhh, _buffet,_ ” I teased. “University boy has it good.”

“Yeah, if overcooked veggies and meatloaf is good. But hey, food, I’m not complaining.” He looked over at me as if he was about to say something else, and then waved awkwardly. “A-anyway. See you around?”

“See you around, shorty.”

“I am _six years younger_ than you! I’m allowed to be _short!_ ”

“Uh huh.” I grinned, resting my chin on my hands. “Buh-bye, shorty.”

“Jerk,” he grumbled as he left. “…Thanks for having me over,” he mumbled so quickly I almost missed it. Then he was gone as well, and it was me, Lust and Wrath again.

I started gathering up the dice and empty Coke cans, avoiding Lust’s gaze.

            “Envy, is Ed your _boyfriend?_ ”

            …Apparently Lust wasn’t the one I needed to worry about. I glared at Wrath, who was giving me an innocent expression. “Go to _bed._ ”

            “But it’s early…”

            “Go read a book.”

            “We have books?”

            “We do _somewhere._ ” I mean, I was sure I’d read _something_ in the last two years. Something not on a screen. Maybe?

“Can I play on your Gameboy?”

“Whatever the hell you want.”

“Yay!”

I shooed him out of the room. I could _feel_ Lust grinning at me.

“Well, well,” she purred. “Finally the resident spinster brings someone home.”

“Would you fuck off?” I hissed. “And I’m not a _spinster._ I’m reasonably certain that requires being old.”

Lust chuckled and sat back, crossing her arms. “Someone’s touchy tonight.”

“I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours,” I groaned. “I’m allowed.” I sprawled onto the couch, picking up one of the cushions and pressing it to my face. I loved RPing but I’d forgotten just how much energy it took out of me. Well, at least I – Oh! Right!

I yanked the four hundred out of my bra and slammed it onto the coffeetable.

There was a quiet hum of approval. “…I don’t suppose you got any of that from the blondie?”

 _-splutter-_ “I did _not._ I _don’t_ sleep with teenagers.”

“No, you just make puppy-eyes at them across the table.”

“You’re a _bitch_ and you can _die in hell._ Also, gross.”

Lust moved over to sit next to me. I edged away with a grumble. “It’s not like I blame you. He is pretty cute. Although I wouldn’t have pegged you as a girl who liked boys so… _wholesome._ ”

“Aaaargh!” I slammed the pillow down into my knees. “It’s _not like that!_ ”

“Why not?”

I scowled. “Let’s get one thing straight –“

“-As if-“

“We’re _roommates._ We’re not friends, we’re not buddies, we don’t sit around trading bad sex stories, and I am _not_ talking to you about my love life.”

Lust raised a slender eyebrow, red lips pursed in a moue. “…But you can mock me relentlessly about mine?”

…Check. And mate.

My only response was another grumble.

“Besides, if we’re not friends, why did I steal your coffee mug back from Greed?” She took a delicate sip from it, eyelashes fluttering.

“First off, when the _hell_ did you do that? Second off – I know you better than that. You just want the details,” I growled.

“Well, yes. I thought that was obvious.” She took another sip. “Also, why _don’t_ we trade bad sex stories? I have some excellent ones. One of them involves a porcupine.”

All posturing aside, I kind of _did_ want to tell her. I mean, she didn’t need to know _all_ of it. Just the part that would get her off my back.

…

Oh, who was I kidding? She’d never leave me alone about it.

“He’s my stepbrother,” I muttered as quietly as I could.

“…I’m sorry?”

She hadn’t heard me. Go figure. I lifted my voice a little bit, trying to stop the sudden humiliated flush in my cheeks and neck. “He’s my _stepbrother._ So, _no,_ I don’t have a crush on him.”

Lust’s mouth hung open so wide I was tempted to flick something in it. “…Does… does he _know?_ Cause, sweetie, you may not have a crush on _him,_ but –“

“No,” I said, then stopped myself. “I don’t… _think_ so?”

“That’s…” She began to laugh, putting down her – _my –_ cup and covering her mouth. “You _really –_ oh _dear._ How did that happen?”

I could have told her the long version. How I’d caught the name ‘Elric’ while listening to Greed and Ling’s pillowtalk drift down into my room. How I’d remembered the name from Hohenheim’s calendar and found myself following Ling to a coffeeshop, trying so, _so_ hard to convince myself that it was a _coincidence,_ that there was no way it could be the same person –

-and how it wasn’t, how it was someone even worse, his son, his golden, perfect, son. Except I hadn’t planned on his golden, perfect son being funny and passionate and geeky, or trans like me with the same stuttering sideways glances, the same shadowed self-esteem –

“He’s Ling’s friend. I ran into him at the coffeeshop – and problem is, I know who my stepdad ran off with, but as far as I’m aware, he doesn’t know I exist.” Saying it out loud didn’t hurt as much as I thought it might. Bare bones facts, no details, no elaboration – yeah, no, it wasn’t so bad.

“Your stepdad?”

 _Leave it alone,_ I wanted to hiss. “Point being, I meant to tell him, but as you’ve noticed, things haven’t quite gone according to plan.” _And which plan was that? The one where you wanted to scare him, push him around, use it against Hohenheim? The plan where you were going to make him hurt for all the years you had to suffer? The plan where you weren’t going to discover, oh hey he’s actually kind of neat?_

“I suppose since you aren’t actually blood-related, it’s not _that_ big a deal.”

Another splutter. “You’re not helping!”

“Was I supposed to be?”

I yanked the coffee cup out of her hands, tried to take a swig – and realized it was empty. “…Damn it. You stole all my coffee.”

“It’s been empty since Edward drank the last of it. We were wondering how long it would take for you to catch on.”

I eyed the empty cup with a scowl. “…Honestly, I was expecting you to poison it or something. You’re being too nice.”

“When am I not nice?”

“You threatened me with a knife a few days ago.”

“I did nothing of the sort. I threatened you, and a knife was nearby. Completely different.”

I snorted, and got up to pour myself another cup. I stopped and turned back to her. “…You won’t tell anybody, right? I’m –“

Lust nodded briskly, a small smile on her lips. “I’ve got blackmail on you now. Why would I ever give up _that_ kind of golden opportunity?”

“Bitch.”

“Love you too,” she chirped.

I don’t know what it was, in the end. I still felt awful and bitter and hot and confused and twisted up inside, but when she said that, I think my heart skipped a beat.

“Whatever,” I grumbled, and stalked off to my room. _Friends. I guess I can work with that. We can make shitty life choices together._

Besides, I would _totally_ win the bad sex stories competition.

 


	18. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I keep uploading the chapter and not the interlude whoops. Fic will update properly tomorrow! If you want to read chapters early, I often post them on a place that I'm apparently not allowed to mention here - message me on Tumblr for deets.)

INTERLUDE I

 

The stage lights are lit

The actor’s face bright

I am not myself tonight.

Your face in the crowd

Brings my heart to life

I am not myself tonight.


	19. Outside Looking In

            I should have gone to bed.

            Funny. You think you tell one person _something,_ let out some of that pressure that’s been building, and maybe everything will be okay. The obsession will stop. You’ll find something new to fixate on.

            Here’s what happened instead – I went outside for a smoke. I saw him waiting for the bus. I watched which one he took. I followed him home.

            ‘Home’, for Ed, was the Carleton residence. By the time the bus I was on caught up to him, he was standing outside his building, deep in a phone conversation with someone.

            “Yeah, I’m great. _Yes,_ I went to class. I told you, Al, I’m turning over a new leaf and all that positive-thinking stuff. High school’s _over._ ” He ran his hand through his hair, clearly agitated, but his voice had a false cheeriness to it. I wondered who it was on the other end who cared so much about him. It sounded like a conversation they’d had before.

            “Yeah, I meant to call her back! Classes are hard, you know. And besides, Winry can go a few days without hearing my voice. It’s not the end of the world.” Another pause. “Yes, Al,” he replied grumpily, and I thought I could see him roll his eyes. I shoved my fist against my mouth to keep from laughing – poor boy. I had the feeling he was getting a strip torn off of him. Who ‘Al’ was, I didn’t know.

“Okay, _okay,_ I’ll call her in the morning. It’ll save you the trouble of getting threatened with a wrench again. Happy?” A laugh. “Yeah, I know. ‘Happy birthday, Ed, did you break any of your limbs?’”

            He was silent for a little bit. I watched from the bus stop, hoping the darkness and the glass hid me from view. Then he spoke again, voice heavy with frustration. “I know. I still don’t want to talk to him.”

            My scalp prickled at that. It could have been anyone he was talking about. After all, he’d left an entire set of friends somewhere else, an entire city of people he knew, _other_ people.

            “I don’t care! He _walked out on us,_ Al – he can go wish a happy birthday to his other family, or wherever the fuck he’s been the last twelve years.”

            My world stopped. _Everything_ stopped.

            The words played over and over and over again in my head.

            _he walked out on us he walked out on us –_ and the scariest of all – _other family –_

He’d done this to _someone else?_

I tried to stand up, and collapsed against the glass of the bus shelter, shivering suddenly. _Other family. Other family. Other family –_ The words sunk in, and my breath came out of me in helpless, shaking sobs I couldn’t even begin to hold in.

            “I was –“ I croaked to the empty shelter, “I was still his favourite, though.” The words rang hollow in the rapidly-cooling air, but they were all I had left. 

* * *

 I must have fallen asleep at some point, bundled into the corner of the bus stop between wall and bench, huddled into an oversized jean-jacket and knees pulled up to my chest. When I opened my eyes again, it was full night instead of evening, and I was freezing.

 “Why didn’t you _do_ anything?” came a voice from far away, tinged with some sort of accent.

 “She wasn’t this bad an hour ago.”

 “An hour ago it was still above zero!”

 I recognized the second voice vaguely, but not the first. Something heavy and warm landed on my shoulders, and a metal rim pushed itself against my lips. I drank greedily, even though the liquid scorched my tongue – it was chocolatey and rich, but most importantly, I could feel it trail a liquid of fire down my throat and into my stomach.

 The little bit of vision I had – black and white with night sky and snow – faded back into darkness, and I sank back into it with a sigh of relief. It wasn’t so _cold_ there.

 What felt like no more than a breath later, my eyes opened again, and shut almost instantly afterwards in response to the bright light.

 “I think she’s awake.”

 I opened one eye again, carefully, trying to lift a hand to block out the light. It obeyed, but slowly and sluggishly.

 A blue-eyed face filled my vision. “Can you see me?”

 I nodded slowly.

 “Can you – oh, well, I guess if you answered that, you can hear me.” The face pulled back a little, and glared up at the other figure. “I can’t _believe_ you.” The accent was British, it dawned on me foggily – just faded and tainted with Canadian affectation.

 “Yes, I’m going to go out of my way to check on my best friend’s _stalker._ I’m not that much of a bleeding-heart, Russ.”

 “She could have _died!_ ”

 “She could have not followed him home!”

 The blue-eyed boy – Russell, I realized, the same Russell I’d seen in the coffeeshop before – made a face, but seemed to be making a tremendous effort to bite his tongue. 

Oh. 

That meant –

“Ling,” I croaked, heart already falling. 

“See, she can talk. She’s fine.” He was standing in the corner of the room, decidedly not looking at me. I didn’t like the look in his eyes – well, I rarely did. Even when he was goofing around with Ed and Russell, there was a decided sharpness to everything he did. And after all – he and Greed were together. That said something on its own. 

Russell sighed and began packing up what I recognized as a first-aid box. I got a chuckle out of that – he’d actually pulled it out? – but on the heels of that was a sinking feeling that I’d been pretty bad off – or I _could_ have been. I still couldn’t quite move. “Don’t make a habit of that,” he said, not quite snappishly but in a voice that brooked _no_ talking back. “This is Ottawa – winter has a habit of sneaking up on us.” He cast another glance at me from underneath his bangs. “What had you out there anyway?” 

I couldn’t answer that.

Ling scoffed from the corner. “I _told_ you. She’s got some creepy thing for Ed. It’s gross.”

“Well, creepy thing for Ed or not, you’re driving her home. The rest we can sort out when she’s not in danger of expiring on my bed.”

“She’s not going to _die._ ” He said it so determinedly, gaze still kept decidedly away from me –

The pieces fell together.

“Who was it?” I croaked.

The words hung in the air and sank, sank, sank. Ling’s gaze flicked up to me, cold and acid through his long eyelashes. “What?”

“You’ve seen this before,” I mumbled. I should have stopped talking, but I’ve never been good at that. “Who was it, a sister? Cousin? Best friend?”

For a second, I thought I could see it reflected it in his eyes – his hands trying to stem the flow of blood, or clawing a pill bottle out of someone else’s grip, or fumbling with a noose – but a moment later, the feeling passed. I was just projecting. I never did have a sense of self-preservation.

Ling didn’t say anything else. I started shivering again.

Russell pulled the blanket closer around my shoulders. “You’re shivering. That’s good. You weren’t responding to much for a while there.”

I unstuck my lips from each other again. They were so dry I could hear them crack. “…How long?”

“Ling saw you out there a few hours ago. I guess it’s been… an hour? Yeah, an hour since we got you inside.”

An hour. That was… somewhat frightening. I don’t know. I should have been more alarmed, but my brain wasn’t working properly.

I was still shivering. Why was I shivering? My hoodie at least should have been warm enough to stop the worst of it, inside, and my skirt and leggings -

_They were gone._

A rush of panic flooded up my throat like bile. I was naked under the blanket, and I couldn’t remember taking anything off – which meant _they’d_ undressed me, they’d stripped off my clothes and I’d been asleep for _hours –_

“You…” I stammered, trying to find the words, trying to fight the fear that was fluttering at the back of my throat, knotting and unknotting, tangled around a sudden certainty that I’d been made a fool of again. “My – my hoodie, my shirt, I –“

Russell reached for me – I grabbed his wrist, pulling it away from me, trying not to wonder if he’d already touched me. “ _What the fuck kind of game are you playing?_ ”

“Whoa! Hey!” Ling shoved his way between us, and I winced as he grabbed my arms, squeezing just that bit too hard. “You’re _fine._ We just took the top layer off –“

“You _stripped_ me –“

“-and if we hadn’t, you would have frozen to death!”

“You can _fuck right off!_ ”

“ _You were freezing to death!_ ” He grabbed my head and forced me to make eye contact with him. “Is that getting through to you?” he said quietly. “We just saved your life. Now take a deep breath.”

I did, exhaling shakily and trying to convince myself that there was nothing to be worried about. That they were telling the truth. “You’re hurting me,” I mumbled. He was right – I still had my bra and underwear on. I could see my leggings now, in a pile on the floor – my hoodie, hanging on a chair, frost slowly melting off of it. And I didn’t _feel_ like anything had happened, although I didn’t know if that meant anything when I was still half-numb.

Ling let go of my arms. Wordlessly, he yanked his sweater over his head and handed it to me. Suddenly, he was avoiding my gaze again. I took the sweater, watching him curiously, and with a wary look at Russell, I slipped it over my head. Russell was very politely staring at the corner, a slight blush covering his face. I’m not sure why he bothered. If my chest was any flatter, it’d be concave – Greed probably had a bigger cup size than me.

Russell quietly kept putting away his first-aid kit. “Maybe you should stay here tonight.” He was trying so hard to ignore the tension between us, keeping a peace that wasn’t there to keep.

The lethargy in my arms and my legs had one answer. I had another. “Can’t,” I slurred, lips and tongue fighting me. “Got a kid at home. Probably worried sick.”

Russell gave me an inscrutable glance at that. “A kid? You?”

 _Don’t sound so surprised,_ I thought, and wanted to say, although I would have been surprised too, if I’d been hearing it from me. “He’s not mine,” I clarified, somewhat grumpily. “I mean, he _is._ Just not – you know – _mine._ ” Well, it made sense to _my_ frost-addled brain. They seemed to follow alright, or at least, they didn’t look actively confused. “He’ll worry if –“ I coughed and cleared my throat. “If I’m out all night,” I finished in a slightly strangled voice. “Without telling him.”

“It’s already past midnight.”

“I –“ Another cough. There was something stuck in my throat and I couldn’t get it out. “I keep weird hours.”

Ling pulled a face at that, although to his credit, it wasn’t where Russell could see. I was drawing my own conclusions about _this_ particular little arrangement, though. Now that my senses were starting to return to me and I had some sort of physical security in the form of a mustard-yellow sweater, I had the chance to look around. I was in what looked like Peter Parker’s residence room – a massive whiteboard filled one wall, with a to-do list scrawled in a near-unintelligible hand and pictures of various plants secured on it with magnets. Another wall held a picture of some boy band with supermoussed hair. On the pinboard next to it were pictures of Ed, Ling, and Russell himself, as well as a few other people I vaguely recognized.

The really telling one, however, was the one with the heart on it and Russell’s lips firmly plastered to Ling’s cheek. I was well aware of how Greed did relationships, but I found it unlikely that someone with a room like this did them _quite_ the same way.

As if he could read my thoughts – and maybe he could, just from following my eyes – Ling shifted nervously in the corner.

_Busted._

I didn’t have time to dwell on this particularly juicy piece of information right at the moment, though. Russell had finished putting away his first-aid kit, and he and Ling were conversing in low but still perfectly audible tones.

“…Look, just get her home, alright? We’ll take it one step at a time.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will. Just don’t tell him. He’s got enough on his mind.”

“Do you know how weird it is to be keeping secrets from _Ed?_ ”

Was it me, or did Ling flinch slightly at the mention of _secrets?_ It was probably me – there was no way he’d kept up the charade this long without having a good poker face.

Okay, I’m petty as fuck. I was mentally teabagging his face going _Busted Busted Busted!_ over and over again. I couldn’t help it. All the attitude, all the backhanded comments about me being a whore and he was a cheating, two-timing, two-faced kindred spirit. Man, I could almost _like_ him now.

“You won’t tell Ed, right?”

I started, realizing Ling was talking to _me_ this time. “N-no. Got no reason to, do I?”

“Look, her teeth are chattering. Just get her home, will you?”

“Y-you’re awfully eager to get me _out_ of your bed. D-don’t usually have that problem until the morning after.” Hah. Even the horrified look on Russell’s face didn’t deter me from feeling an accomplished glee.

Ling sighed, reached over and half-hauled me out of the bed. “She’s going.” His hands were warmer than I’d expected – I suppose I’d expected them to be as cold as his attitude, sharp as his tongue. “Keep the place warm for me, will ya, Russ?”

“Just don’t be too long. It’s cold out there.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ling smiled comfortably and gave Russell a quick kiss on the cheek before escorting me out the door and into the residence hallway. The last I saw of Russell was a worried, slightly distrustful glance that wasn’t intended for his boyfriend to see, before the door closed behind us, and I was alone with someone who would probably much rather I’d turned into a little slutty icicle.

Fun times.

 


	20. Interlude J

INTERLUDE J

 

time's an illusion and a wandering friend

round and round it goes again

tick-tick-tick and suddenly, then,

only a minute has gone.

 

together a moment in each other's light

no reason to fear and no reason to fight

take back the past and make the future right

only a minute alone

 

Time's a mystery, a bitter pill to swallow

carves lines in your hands and proves promises hollow

black ink turns grey, crisp pages turn yellow

only a century gone

 

and again comes the parting and you still can't speak

over the river of moments rushing under your feet

and this time he means it, time stops suddenly

only you now

alone.

 

 

 


	21. A MATTER OF PERSPECTIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: NSFW/smut, cheating, sex work, anti-sex worker slurs (used gently), drug allusions, dom/sub interactions, transphobia, misgendering* (see bottom for notes), trauma/PTSD
> 
> If you don't want to read an explicit sexual encounter, the version on fanfiction.net has the explicit sex removed.

 

         I ended up mostly-leaning on Ling most of the way to the parking garage, much to his displeasure, I’m sure. My lips were still so blue I could feel it, and my fingers and toes were only starting to tingle back to life – and oh, I was trying _so_ hard to behave -

         “…I take it Russell _doesn’t_ know about the drug dealer boyfriend, then.” I really did mean to keep my mouth shut. Oops.

         Ling shoved me into the front seat. “What was your first guess? The One Direction poster?”

         “Oh god. Is that who they were? I thought that was a gospel choir.”

         He slid into the driver’s seat. “Get your feet off the dash.”

         “But they’re comfortable.”

         “Just because you almost died on my front step doesn’t mean I’m going to be nice to you.” His hands were tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white and arms trembling slightly. He was refusing to look at me again.

         I tucked my hands into my armpits, exhaling and sliding down in the seat. “Ya know, for someone who I’m pretty sure actively hates me, you’re _pretty_ cut up about this.”

         “And you’re backtalking me a lot for someone with mascara all over their face.”

         “What?” I grabbed his rearview mirror, checking my face. Sure enough, the mascara I’d put on – jesus, _two days_ ago – was smeared over my cheeks. How had it even stayed on for that long? I guess I knew which brand I was buying again, but still, that was a scary long time to be sticking to my face. That, or my tears were stained black like my soul. “Crud.”

         “There’s wet wipes in the glovebox.”

         “Cool.” I opened it. “Hey, you have condoms in here. You fuck in the car a lot?”

         He slammed it shut, almost on my hand. “If you don’t behave, I’ll leave you out here again.”

         “But then you’ll never get that sweet sexing from Russell.”

         “Not a problem, trust me. Now will you shut up and let me drive?”

         I obliged, for now. It was just nice to feel talkative again now that the frost seemed to have left my voicebox. I wasn’t sounding as graceful and feminine as I usually managed, but I rarely bothered around Ling anyway.

         Funnily enough, I thought this might’ve been the most words we’d ever exchanged in a row that didn’t mention Ed. Funny how long life goes without passing the Bechdel Test sometimes. Or whatever you’d call it. I almost wanted to bring it up again out of spite, but it was interesting just to sit there and try to puzzle him out. I’d seen him at the coffee shop, the big brother of the group in yellow hoodies and Superman t-shirts, making bad puns and stealing wallets and goofing around – and I’d seen him with Greed in his floral-print stockings and pink tank tops and black pumps, lips any colour of the rainbow and earrings made of everything from puzzle pieces to bottle caps.

          I guessed it made sense, really. Even if you _think_ people should understand – if your best friends are already so queer it makes the eyes hurt – it’s hard to get out of the habit of hiding.

          “What makes me so special?” I found myself wondering out loud.

          “What?” he asked brusquely.

          “I’m just curious. You’re not this… sharp to anybody else. I almost feel honored. No bubblegum Ling for me.”

          He almost smiled, but there was still an edge to it. He kept the eyes on the road. “Bubblegum Ling has his moments.”

          “So what’s this? Sugar-free Haribo gummy bear Ling?”

           He snorted. “Shut up.”

           I took a deep breath. I wanted, so badly, to be the nasty one. Being nasty came naturally to me. I wasn’t _proud_ of it, exactly – but it wasn’t something I wasted a lot of time feeling bad about either. Sometimes I went too far, and then I spent the energy to feel like the awful human being was. Being actively _nice,_ though – that was something else. What was the point in being kind to someone who’d never give the time of day to me?

           “I’d never out you, you know. I’m a bitch, but I’m – not _that_ much of a bitch.” It was _effort._

           Ling kept driving steadily. It was like he hadn’t heard me.

           “I mean, I do some shitty fucking things, I get it, and –“ I stopped myself, cause it was starting to make sense, wasn’t it? He wasn’t just protecting Ed, he was protecting _himself._ Part of me wanted to say that, but I was doing so well with the whole ‘being a good person’ thing. “Whatever.”

           “You’re quite happy to tease me about the loud sex,” he commented dryly, turning into the apartment building’s parking lot.

           “ _Yeah,_ but I don’t tell everyone in a five mile radius that you’re wearing a skirt while it happens, do I? Well, I assume you take it off. I don’t know. I get the audio-only version.”

           A dark flush spread over his cheeks. “W- I’m not _that_ loud.”

           “Really? Then how do I know you call Greed Daddy?”

            I should have taken a _picture._ He had an expression on his face like he’d just missed the last step on the stairs.

            The car jerked to a stop. “My sex life is not your business!” he squeaked.

            “I don’t _want_ it being my business, either,” I grumbled. “You think I sit there and _masturbate_ while the two of you go at it like happy queer bunnies? I mean, I’ve been tempted to, but the thought of your ugly mug ruins the mood, and well, Greed’s just kind of a turn off in general.”

            “Please stop talking,” he whimpered, although there was a laugh bubbling at the back of it.

            “I want to, but I think the cold fried the part of my brain that has a filter.”

            Ling slowly pitched forward until his head was resting on the steering wheel. “Just kill me now and get it over with. I think I’d prefer that.”

            “But you’re so cute when you’re suffering.”

            “Don’t even start. Your crush on Ed is creepy enough.”

            I scowled. The stalemate spell had been broken – and now we were back to the point of contention. The teasing had been _fun._ “I don’t have a crush on him. He’s miniature.”

            “You’re stalking him. And don’t try denying it – you were outside his rez building. Dressed like that, might I add.”

            I wanted to argue that I’d only been dressed like that cause I’d never really gotten changed out of my hooking clothes, but I don’t think that would have helped my case. Even now, I had Ling’s hoodie over the same leggings I’d been wearing for… er, I figured I’d stop before I grossed myself out. It had been a weird few days. “It’s not what you think –“

            “So what is it? Explain this to me. Cause you have moments where you’re actually passably decent but I can’t get over the fact that you won’t leave my friend _alone._ ”

            “Ed’s never _asked_ me to,” I retorted.

            Ling didn’t seem to care. “You’ve got a life, you’ve got things to worry about other than a seventeen-year-old kid with issues of his own, so what the fuck is your _problem?_ ”

            “I can’t tell you.”

            “Can’t or won’t?”

            “Is both an option?”

            He slammed his fist into the dashboard. I jumped despite myself, heart skipping a beat, but smoothed my face into the most impassive mask I could make it.

            Ling noticed anyway, and his fist uncurled, something almost like regret on his face. Maybe it was. “Did I scare you?”

            “What’s to be scared of?” I said. It was supposed to be nonchalant, but my voice shook a little at the end. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

            He laid his hand flat on the dashboard where I could see it. It was a nice gesture, and I could see him fighting with something, words starting to take shape on his lips and then disappearing again. He was trying. He was _trying_ to see me as something other than a threat, something to work with instead of against. The fact that he even wanted to – I didn’t deserve that much. Everything he was saying was _true._

            “I’ll walk you up,” Ling murmured finally. “You’re probably still pretty shaky.”

            I almost asked if he was going to stop in and see Greed. Almost.

            My hand darted out to grab the sleeve of his t-shirt, door half-open. “Wait.” I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Wait, just – for a second.”

            He faced me, concern flickering in his eyes. A dim thought, unbidden and unsought, surfaced in my mind – _this is probably a bad idea and you need to back off –_ and instead, I undid my seatbelt, crawled forward and planted my lips on his.

            Ling hesitated for a second, and then began to kiss me back. That was a surprise. It was one I could work with. I slid my hand over his thigh and between his legs – he was already hard against my fingers, pressing against the denim. I probably should have guessed that I wasn’t the only one whose mind was going places it _really_ shouldn’t have been.

            I slid my tongue into his mouth, and started as it met metal. I broke the kiss, panting a little. “You –“

            He stuck out his tongue, cheekily showing off his tongue stud. I wasn’t sure how I’d missed it before, but I guess I hadn’t been paying attention.

            “…Okay, that’s really hot,” I breathed, and kissed him again. It wasn’t long before his hands were pulling at the hoodie he’d so recently given to me, trying to get it off of me in the cramped space of the car. I managed to get it off and aside, and almost instantly he was tugging at my leggings, the metal of his piercing flicking against my collarbone as he sucked on my neck.

            “Ah-ah. Behave yourself,” I murmured. At the disappointed sound he made, I leaned forward, nipping at his ear. “Isn’t my mouth enough for you?”

            There was a visible shiver at that, and his hands slid underneath my bra, stroking my chest. “Y-yes,” he whispered. As if he’d been only waiting for a signal to go ahead, one hand moved to my head, pushing me steadily downwards into the space at his feet. Somewhere along the way, I hadn’t noticed when, he’d pushed back the seat, so there was already room for me. _Sneaky bastard, thinks he’s so clever._

            He was gripping my hair now, eyes flashing and teeth digging into his lower lip. He dug into the glovebox with his other hand, pulling out one of the condoms I’d teased him so much about. I ignored my own erection and the steady pounding of my own heart – it had been made very clear who was in charge.

            All of a sudden, his grip was loosening, and my heart sank in disappointment. He was chewing on his lip now, not just biting it – “I’m sorry – I shouldn’t – this is messed up -“

            I nuzzled the hard ridge in his jeans, then gave it a gentle bite, eyes meeting his. “Ling,” I said quietly, trying to sound sincere. I was – I just don’t always get it across well. “You can be as rough as you like.” My voice came out husky, rough around the edges, flaring with lust. _I want this, I want you to fuck my mouth until I’m crying, I want you to hurt me, I want you to leave me with bruises, I want –_

            He licked his lips and nodded, watching intently as I unbuttoned his jeans and pulled his cock loose, taking the condom from him. Then, he tangled his hand in my hair again, other hand stroking my chin as I tore the wrapper open, sliding the thin latex over him with practiced grip. Then, he gripped my chin between his fingers, caressing my cheek. “I’ll stop if you tell me to.”

            _How very sweet,_ I thought with a touch of condescension. Then his thumb pushed into my mouth and the rest of my internal monologue was lost as he pulled my mouth open, stroked my lips and then pushed himself into me.

            I closed my lips hungrily around him, the taste of lubricant and latex mixing with the scent of his pheromone-tinged sweat. My hands rested on his thighs, gently resisting against the inexorable pressure on my head. Slowly, as my throat adjusted to him and my lips found their shape around his shaft, I released and put my hands delicately in my lap, giving myself over to him.

            “Good girl,” he hissed, hips easing up further into me. My gag reflex was fighting me, and him, but I had enough experience to make it stop – and my submissive instincts were stronger.

            _Yes, sir,_ I thought, and even if Ling was never going to be a ‘sir’ or a ‘master’, for now he was the equivalent, and he was giving me what I needed – a reminder of who I _was._ Of what I was built for. Of what I was _meant_ for.

            I began to move my head gently up and down Ling’s shaft, and after a moment, his heavy hand began to guide me, controlling when I moved, where I moved – I lost track of time. All I could feel was the growing tension in his hips and legs, the way he pulsed in my mouth, how he stroked my cheek and the steady encouragement between the choking thrusts and pressure to keep me down on him.

          “F- _fuck, Envy-_ “

           I opened my eyes and he pulled me down by my hair as far as I could go, hips bucking and a cry muffled between his gritted teeth as he came. I could feel the condom swell in my mouth, and I couldn’t help but be somewhat disappointed that it was there.

           He released my head, lifting my chin and pulling his cock out of my mouth, holding the condom in place as he struggled to catch his breath. I slid out from the bottom of the car and back to the passenger seat, but he brushed his hand against my side. “No, no, come here.”

           “What?” For a moment, I thought he was trying to return the favour, which wasn’t something I was particularly interested in.

            He circled his arm around my waist and pulled me close, so that we were both squished into the driver’s seat. “Aftercare.”

            “After – _what?_ ”

            “I saw you…space out there.” He was slowly getting his breath back, and he tied off the condom, gingerly setting it on the dashboard. “So I’m cuddling you.”

            “You’re…” I didn’t even have _words._ “That’s…pathetic.”

            “Fuck off.”

            “See, that didn’t sound very caring or cuddly. You’re bad at this.”

            He snorted, eyes closed and head half-curled into me. I had the strange feeling the aftercare wasn’t really so much for _me._ I knew the concept, of course, and it was sweet in a weird, misguided, kind of overbearing way that he was trying to do it for me. I supposed for some people, that kind of treatment counted as rough, but I’d had worse. _Much_ worse.

            I prodded him in the side. “So you gonna pay me?”

            He snickered – then stopped. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I probably should.”

            “I _was_ joking. But in case you’re serious, it’s fifty.”

            “Damn. And I thought you were a _cheap_ hooker.”

            “Oy. Watch your mouth.”

            He made a sound suspiciously like a purr. “I’ll find my wallet in a minute.”

            “Wow. _Score._ ”

            “Shut up, it’s your living. I’d feel like an asshole.”

            “I _am_ still capable of having casual sex, you know.” Maybe he had a point. He was warm, and I was feeling oddly secure. I mean, he was still a dick, but… I don’t know. It was complicated. I knew his secrets, whether he liked it or not. You have to respect someone that little bit more when you know what they’re hiding – and they’re forced to respect you a little more for keeping your trap shut. I’ve never held much stock in the idea that sex has to be built on perfect trust and love, either – I trust my partners just enough, and the rest of it I can handle myself.

            “Yeah, yeah. Let me assuage my guilt by giving you grocery money.”

            “What, you’re _guilty_ now?”

            “My dick certainly isn’t. Damn.” He finally eased himself up a little, adjusting his jeans and doing up his fly. “Er, where is it? One sec –“ He reached into the glovebox, and the used condom fell on his hand. “God. Fucking –“

            I snickered. “…Twizzler Ling?”

            “I don’t even know where you got that one. Pothead.”

            “I resent that accusation! I don’t need drugs to be happy. Aside from nicotine and caffeine and alcohol, of course.”

            He grinned, shaking his head and gingerly putting the used condom in a plastic grocery bag he’d managed to scrounge out of his glovebox. “Here it is.”

            “And not your pocket, because…?”

            “It was a weird day.” He tugged the wallet out – black and grey plaid, much plainer than I would have expected. “Uh – okay, here we go, two 20s,” he handed them to me, “and… uh… three toonies, four loonies and four quarters.”

            I stared at him. “….You fucking _prat.”_

“Wait, wait, no, I found another toonie!”

            “I hate you. It’s official.”

            “Look, toonies are useful, okay? Especially for vending machines. And laundry.”

            I snorted. “Our laundry machines don’t even _take_ them – _I am not getting into this domestic shit with you._ ” I opened the car door and crawled over him, stepping gingerly out into the cold air and snatching the hoodie back. “Gah. I’m gonna get hypothermia again.”

            “If you get your ass inside, you won’t.”

            “Still gonna walk me up?”

            “Suppose it would be polite.” He groaned, stretching out first one leg then the other. “What did you _do_ to me?”

            I rolled my eyes and pulled the hoodie back over my head. “You can’t even complain that you don’t get laid, so I don’t know what your excuse is.”

            He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees. “Well, half of this is the whole sex-in-a-parked-car thing. I haven’t done that since I was in high school.” Ling looked up at me from under his disheveled bangs. “…Can you hurry up and make yourself unlikeable again? I’m having a bit of a crisis here.”

            “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to kill some puppies on the way up. Maybe steal food from starving orphan children. Should I start another war in the Middle-East to be on the safe side?”

            He tried – unsuccessfully – to keep a straight face, shaking his head. “No wonder Greed likes you so much.”

            I tugged the hem of the hoodie down, trying to cover as much of my leggings as I could. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t anyone out this late.

            On the way up, I considered asking about Russell. I didn’t, in the end. I’d charmed Ling, apparently, and I was happy to leave it like that, even if something like tonight never happened again. I wasn’t going to touch whatever he thought he was doing with Greed and Russell.

            It wasn’t until after I’d waved him an awkward goodbye, the door had closed in front of me, and the last flush of afterglow had been replaced with fatigue that the image that had been playing in the back of my head crystallized into something clear – Ling slamming his fist into the dashboard, repeating over and over and over again.

            I hadn’t done anything I hadn’t wanted to. I’d even started it. I’d had fun. All the same, a flicker of something that wasn’t quite shame and certainly wasn’t regret started in my stomach. I guess if I had to identify it, it felt an awful lot like guilt.

           Why was my brain deciding that _that_ was the appropriate reaction? Fucking search me. My brain can go fuck itself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Some important notes for this chapter!
> 
> Envy uses he/him/his pronouns for Ling simply because she hasn’t been told to use any other ones, and pronouns are solely the choice of the person concerned.
> 
> Envy is anxious and somewhat guilty about some of the choices she made this chapter, but to make it very clear, she and Ling both consider their encounter completely consensual – their issues with it beyond that have nothing to do with consent.


	22. Interlude K

INTERLUDE K

 

Please don’t hate me

for being afraid of the darkness

I see shining in your eyes

Please realize that it’s only

a reflection

of what’s in mine.


	23. The Freckles on His Nose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: abuse trauma/discussion, bruises, death threats, minor manipulation

           Wrath was asleep on the couch. He’d clearly tried to stay up for me – the book in his hands and the way his head had fallen onto the armrest said that much. I couldn’t help but smile. He was a sweet kid, really – I’d expected something else. I’m not sure what. I guess at twelve, you’ve still got a little hope in you, even with somebody giving you black eyes and god knows what else.

            “Hey,” I murmured, nudging some of the hair out of his face. He was wearing a different set of clothes than I’d last seen him in – clearly Lust had made a trip to Value Village or something. I should probably have thought of it, but I’d been…out of sorts. “I’m home.”

            He stirred. “…Envy?”

            “Yeah, it’s me.”

            He opened one eye, blinked blearily, then levered himself up on the couch cushions. “…What time is it?”

            “Nearly two in the morning. Didn’t you get the memo about me being nocturnal?”

            “Well, yeah, but – Lust said you weren’t working tonight?”

            I shrugged. “Didn’t plan on making you wait.”

            He rubbed some of the sleep out of his eyes, pulling the book out from underneath his arm – and I grabbed for it with a shock of recognition. It was a bound, faded-black notebook, scratches in its leather binding. “ _Why do you have this?_ ” I barely recognized my own voice – I couldn’t keep it gentle, not _now._

            “You – you said we had books – this is the only one I could - “ Wrath was staring at me wide-eyed, backing into the corner of the couch, hands rising in front of him. _He looks scared – why does he look scared?_

The image of Ling’s fist on the dashboard came back and hit me like a truck. All of a sudden, I realized I was leaning _over_ Wrath, just how _loud_ I’d been, and the book was in my hand instead of his.

            I sat down. I wasn’t sure what to say, but the terrified look on his face wasn’t one I wanted to see again. I’d worn it enough times. “…I did, didn’t I? I guess you found one.” I ran my fingers over the cover, seized with an urge to cry.

            _He can go wish a happy birthday to his other family._

It wasn’t the same one, of course. I’d filled up a dozen notebooks in the fifteen years since, all black leather, all filled with much the same sort of thing.

            “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and I could still hear the fear in his voice.

            “It’s – not your fault. I – this is mine.” I swallowed. “It’s private. I should have told you.”

            “They’re really good,” he whispered, and at first I thought he was trying to calm my temper, a temper that had already flared itself out. I was about to tell him he didn’t need to. “I mean it. I don’t – get all of them though.”

            “That’s okay. Neither do I.” I let the book fall open to the middle. Poetry – pages upon pages of poetry, sometimes drawings as well. Things I couldn’t say out loud. Things I didn’t know how. “Hey.” I turned to him and gave him a gentle poke in the shoulder, watching how he flinched. “You don’t need to be scared of me. Okay?”

            “It’s not that easy,” he murmured sullenly.

            “I know.”

            A quiet, slightly awkward silence settled between the two of us. Part of me wanted to burn my notebook all of a sudden, horrified that _anyone_ had seen it, that anyone knew the kind of things that went on in my mind. Part of me, I think, was just thankful that somebody finally had.

            Most of me, though, was just fucking exhausted. I needed to sleep before I did something else stupid and brainless. _You shouldn’t have done that with Ling,_ claimed one nagging voice. _Why the fuck not? I wanted to,_ carelessly retorted another. _He’s cheating._ Another one, a deeply hidden conscience that was taking the chance to speak up. _It’s not my business what he does. I do what I want –_

“Are you okay?” Wrath asked, voice steadying. Dammit, I was still feeling guilty. What _was_ it with me tonight? Guilt, guilt, guilt. I thought I’d gotten rid of that instinct years ago, but here it was, popping up its head every time I tried to do anything.

            “Y-yeah. Gonna go to bed.”

            “Whose shirt is that?” he asked. It took me a moment for it to connect – he meant the yellow hoodie.

            “Oh, it’s… not mine.”

            “I know. Whose is it?”

            I shrugged. “Does it matter?” I got up, setting my notebook down on the coffeetable and pulling the hoodie over my head. “I can’t sleep in the stupid thing anyway. I gotta go to bed –“

            There was a strangled sound from Wrath. I wondered if he was complaining about me stripping in front of him – I mean, I had my bra on underneath, and it’s not like there was much to _see._

I finished tugging it over my head and pulled my hair out of the way. “ _Relax,_ kid –“

            “Who did that?”

            I followed his eyes, and pulled at my shoulder, trying to get a better look. There was a purpling bruise on my upper arm – not too dark, not massive, but still definitely _there._ It wouldn’t have bothered me, except I knew exactly who had put it there.

            “Shit,” I whispered. Ling had grabbed me, trying to calm me down – he’d bruised me in the process. Didn’t bother me – but it was bothering Wrath.

            “I’ll kill them,” he hissed under his breath, and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to catch it or not, but I did.

            “It’s okay,” I lied. “It was an accident.” Not so much a lie, although I wasn’t really sure how much of it had been accidental in the first place. But I certainly didn’t need him threatening anybody and making things worse.

            He glanced up at me, blue eyes distrustful. Pushing himself up from the couch, he headed for the kitchen, reaching up into the freezer. I followed him, wanting to go to bed but also curious what he was doing.

            “Does it hurt?”

            The question caught me a little off-guard. “Does –“

            “Your arm.”

            Both of them did, a little. But _everything_ hurt a bit. I was warmed up now, but my time in the frost had left me sore and aching, and parked cars had enough awkward angles that I probably needed to stretch out. “Yes,” I said, because I figured it was what he wanted to hear.

            He pulled an icepack out of the freezer, and began methodically wrapping it in a dishtowel – starting a few times, then quietly cursing under his breath, unwrapping it and doing it again. After a moment, he pressed it to my arm. “…It helps sometimes.”

            I watched him from underneath my eyelashes. Over the last week, I’d gotten used to having a hyperactive, somewhat jittery kid around – I’d barely thought about his black eye after that first night, even though it had only darkened while he was here, and it was easy enough to concentrate on how bright and happy he seemed most of the time. But now, late at night with him focused so intently on the bruise on my arm, it was like looking at someone else completely.

            Something occurred to me, and I cocked my head, smiling slightly. “So how much of the cute genki kid thing is for our benefit?”

            He started at that, and a deep, embarrassed flush spread over the ridge of his nose, bringing out a bunch of freckles I hadn’t noticed before. “…Dunno what you mean.”

            “You clever little brat. You wanted to make sure we thought you were too cute to get rid of.” I was grinning now.

            “Well, it _worked._ Or _was.”_ He was practically sulking now, although it had a distinct ‘hand in the cookie jar’ feel to it. “And I didn’t _lie._ I don’t pretend to be anything I’m not.”

            “No, you just figured acting like half your age would get you more sympathy.” I patted him on the head. “Cause the dumpster wasn’t enough.”

            “ _Shut up,_ ” he growled, although there was the hint of a sheepish smile on his face. “I had to come up with something!”

            “You are twelve, right?”

            “Yeah. I turn thirteen in two months.”

            I wiggled my arm a little. It certainly wasn’t sore anymore, mostly because I couldn’t feel half of it. “I think I’m good. Thanks.” He put it back in the freezer. “So were you in school?”

            He didn’t answer me. That was fair. Questions were supposed to be forbidden – we didn’t ask about each other. That was the _rule._ It wasn’t up to me to start breaking it. “Can I still stay?” he asked, somewhat nervously.

            “Yeah, yeah.” I waved noncommittally. “I didn’t let you stay cause you were _cute,_ ya know.”

            “Why did you, then?” he asked, hands tangling in his long, unkempt hair, fists squeezing and releasing in the black waterfall that circled his face. He was still too pale, and the harsh fluorescent kitchen light made the bruise on his eye stick out that much more against his narrow face. The freckles were still there though, outlined by the barest hint of a flush. You get used to faces – when new ones come along, sometimes you just take time to study them and ask that question – _who are you?_ Sometimes you get the answer. Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes it doesn’t matter.

            …I decided to leave the question. “Okay, I need to _sleep._ I don’t even _know_ how long I’ve gone without a proper night’s sleep. Did you know that sleep deprivation has the same effects on the human brain as being above the legal limit for alcohol?”

            He chuckled. “I _didn’t,_ actually. That’s cool.”

            “Cool until it happens to you. Scuse me while I go pass out ungracefully.” I stretched my arms above my head and strolled out of the kitchen. I picked up my notebook on the way by – I had more to add. Maybe tomorrow, though, I’d let him read it again. He was right, after all. We didn’t have enough books around.

            I snuck one last look over my shoulder. He was still standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and lost in thought. I was curious – but I’d already asked one question too many. We all had reasons for our privacy.

            The notebook went under my pillow, unopened – for tonight.

 


	24. Pieces of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: references to transphobia, misgendering, cheating/affairs; ableism, knives, food, violence, animal death, sex work

           It’s a testament to my incredible pigheadedness that I made it as long as I did, passing out outside in minus-20 weather notwithstanding. But between the near-death experience (in my opinion, _grossly_ overstated), the highschool-style parked-car blowjob, and the incredible emotional anguish of knowing that the fuckbag I’d been upset over for the last decade and a half was, in fact, a fuckbag to _other_ people – well, I might have slept for something like 20 hours.

            Which means I woke up at 2 in the afternoon the next day, incredibly disoriented, sore in every place I could even _think_ of, and – thanks to Ling – lying very awkwardly on a pile of change.

            I _would_ follow this up with the addendum that I’ve woken up worse ways, but to be honest, this was one of the weirder ones. I wasn’t even entirely sure the past few days had _happened._

I eased my notebook out from under my pillow. Wrath reading it – yeah, that had happened. At least I was pretty sure. And bit by bit, the rest fell into place, little details confirming their truths to me. Slowly, working out the kinks in my hands and neck as I did, I wrote it out. I suppose it was a diary of sorts, which is why I was so sensitive about anybody even knowing it existed, but I trusted Wrath. I don’t know why.

            I hesitated, pen hovering over the page mid-sentence. _He can go wish a happy birthday to his other family._ I couldn’t figure out why that sentence kept playing over and over in my head, even after I’d slept. I wondered if I’d been dreaming it.

            I turned a new page, and wrote down the year I was born. _1992._ Then the year Hohenheim had come into my life. _1999._ Simple enough. He’d left a few years later.

            Then, starting to feel a little bit sick to my stomach, I wrote down _2016._ Edward was turning eighteen.

            He was turning eighteen.

            I slammed the book shut, running over the years in my head. Maybe I’d been mistaken. Maybe I’d gotten something wrong. It was pretty basic though, basic enough that I should have figured it out long before now. After all, 2016 isn’t a hard number to work with. Ed had been born 1998. Simple enough.

            Simple enough to figure out that Edward wasn’t the other family that I’d lost Hohenheim to. It was the other way around.

            I could feel my heart in my throat. _Ling was right. I should stop. I should go away._ What on earth did I think I was going to accomplish? What was the _point?_

            _I just want to know._

And, underneath that, like a little ember of warmth underneath all the apathy, I felt myself quietly acknowledge that at the end of the day, I just wanted to see Ed again. I’d acknowledged as much in my notebook. Maybe, eventually, I’d be able to say it out loud.

            Slowly, excruciatingly, I eased myself up and out of bed. Coffee. Coffee sounded like a marvelous idea. I eyed the yellow hoodie I’d thrown into the corner last night, but instead I slouched over to my closet, rummaging through my dresses. It was getting chilly enough that I could have worn more jeans, but winter always came with a major increase in being misgendered, and after the mood the last few days had put me in, I really wasn’t up for that.

            Although – I paused. I really _wasn’t_ feeling that bad. Everything hurt – but it was far away. Maybe it was being awake while the sun was pouring through the curtains, or just my little trip to subspace, or something else entirely. I _shouldn’t_ be feeling this good. Everything that had happened, in fact, would have pointed to the exact opposite.

            I dug through my closet, and almost on their own, my hands slowed to a stop, feeling the brush of something familiar where it shouldn’t be. I parted the hangers. It was still here – I thought I’d gotten rid of it long ago.

            My eyes stung, and I blinked it away. _Oliver._ I hadn’t thought about Oliver in years. I fingered the smooth material, remembering how it had slid against my skin, how he had danced with me and ignored how clumsily I followed his lead in the narrow space of his apartment, how he had told me I was special. I’d believed him, too – and even now, I couldn’t quite break the mirage.

            I pulled the dress off the hanger and out of the closet. I was taller now than I had been then, and the hem didn’t quite reach my ankles any more, but the sleeves that hugged my arms were still there, and the slits up to my knees, and the gently scooped collar, all of it trimmed with white triangles on the edges. I’d barely worn it since he’d bought it for me – since my brief stint as somebody’s mistress.

            A surge of jealousy hit me at that, and following it, all the memories of Oliver I’d managed _not_ to think about – the look on his wife’s face at our work function when she’d heard my name, the faint disgust on her face when she saw my clean-shaven face, my long ponytail and the stud in my ear, my small concessions to femininity – and the way it had _felt,_ throwing a glass of wine in her face when she’d followed the time-honored trend of calling me a whore. Oliver – sorry, Mr. Anjouleme - had me fired the next day. I suppose he couldn’t have it getting out that he fucked _all_ the cute interns, not just the ones with double-Ds.

            I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It’d been four years, and even if it still bothered me, he was part of the past. I didn’t even remember why I’d loved him so much, or why I’d thought sleeping with my boss was such a good idea.

            What I did have, and what ultimately had much more value than anything else Mr. Anjouleme or his shitty company could have ever given me, was a dress. A _nice_ dress. No fishnet, no lace, nothing I could use to go attract customers with. This was a _date_ dress.

            I grinned, and started putting it on. It was that kind of a day. It was a nice-dress kind of day. Why the fuck not? After a bit of thought, I grabbed some bobby pins and a hair tie, stuck them in my mouth and began to work on my hair.

            Maybe Ed would like it. I mean, that wasn’t _why,_ but – who knew? Nothing wrong with putting a little bit of effort in.

* * *

            When I finally left my room, Lust was leaning against the wall, talking on her cellphone. At first, I thought it might be Scar, and my hackles rose instinctively, but after a moment I realized who it was.

            “It’s okay, dear. I’ll be there soon. I know you’re scared. Is 30 minutes okay? I’ll have to ask Greed to drive me.” A pause, and she laughed, a bubbly, happy sound emerging from her lungs, not just from her throat. “It really is okay, I promise. Besides, Greed thinks you’re cool. Mmhmm.”

            Wrath was listening intently, arms folded on the back of the couch and head leaning on them. Seeing me, he scooched down to the other end, and stage-whispered, “Who’s that?”

            “Hmm? Oh, it’s Gluttony.”

            “We have a _Gluttony?_ ”

            “Yeah, Lust does his laundry, cooks for him a few times a week, stuff like that.”

            “Woah.” Beat. “…Lust does _laundry?_ ”

            “Only if she’s paid to, apparently,” I grumbled, but in good humour. _Nothing_ was going to poke a hole in my good mood today. I wouldn’t let it.

            Lust hung up, a frustrated smile hanging on her lips. “Envy, what are you up to today?”

            “Um…” I tried to come up with something that sounded important enough to wiggle out of whatever she wanted me to do. “Washing… my hair?”

            “The power in Gluttony’s building went out.”

            “Oh. Shit. It was this morning, right? Not last night?”

            She nodded, and sighed. “Thank god for that. Poor Gluttony.”

            Wrath barreled down to the other end of the couch. “Why poor Gluttony? Why’s it such a big deal?”

            “He hates the dark. So I’m going to go over there, perhaps stay the night in case the power goes out again.” There was anger in her voice, but it wasn’t aimed at Gluttony – she loved the man, even if she liked to complain about his eccentricities – it was concerning the people who ran the building he lived in. Our landlord kept his distance, and knew when to shut up, but Gluttony had gotten stuck in an apartment owned by people who knew how to take advantage of his vulnerabilities. She’d gone on rants about it more than once, waving the knife in her hand with a little bit _too_ much intent behind it.

            But if she was going out –

            I glared at Wrath, who sank behind the couch, big eyes peering over at me with what I _hoped_ was contrition. “So _I’m_ babysitting Conan the Barbarian.”

            “I can stay here on my own!”

            “That seems like a _supremely_ bad idea.” I couldn’t help but imagine Wrath making it up the stairs while Greed had a batch going. I mean, he already kind of had the ‘crack baby’ thing going.

            “Aww, poor Envy. Worried he’s going to cramp your style?”

            “Shut up, Lust. And for your information, I just _threw_ this on.”

            “Uh huh.” She was about to say something _mean,_ I could _tell,_ but she behaved and kept her mouth shut. Thank god. If she’d started in on the stepbrother cracks _now,_ I probably would have crawled back into my room, under my bed and chickened out completely. “Okay, I’m heading out. Be nice to each other. And please don’t burn down the building – we don’t have tenant’s insurance.”

            “Yeah, yeah.” The moment she was gone, I turned to Wrath and leaned my elbows on the couch. “…So. You like coffee.”

            “Yep!”

            I shoved my notebook into his chest. “Here. Your job today is to sit in the corner, read and drink delicious coffee. Got it?”

            “Got…it?” He stared at the notebook, then back up at me – then, his face split into a cheeky grin. “ _Ohhh._ You’re asking Ed on a –“

            “Finish that sentence, and I will –“ I wasn’t good at threats that didn’t actually, ya know, threaten violence. Uh. “- feed you _nothing_ but Apple and Cinnamon oatmeal and lime jello. For a _week._ ”

            “But that sounds delicious.”

            “You and I will never understand each other.”

            He snickered, and then his smile faded, and he flushed a little. He wanted to ask me for something. I prodded him gently. “Just spit it out.”

            “Can I have a notebook?”

            I blinked, then did some mental math. “I… guess?” They were literally 2 bucks at the dollar store, so I couldn’t see why not.

            “Cool!” He bounced off the couch and started pulling on a pair of beaten-up trainers. I vaguely recognized them, and couldn’t realize why, until I saw the stripe on the side that had been scribbled in with black Sharpie. They’d been Pride’s son’s, and he’d complained for _days_ about the orange neon stripe on the side, until Greed had handed him a marker and told him to be proactive. Pride hadn’t been particularly happy with us. I wasn’t sure how the shoes had ended up here, but that just seemed to be the way of things today - finding pieces of the past in the closet, both the good and the bad.

“Did I do something wrong?” came the concerned question. I shook myself out of it. Pride and Selim were both long gone. I hadn’t even realized I’d _known_ his kid’s name.

            “Nah, unless you count liking apples and cinnamon oatmeal.”

            “You’re so _weird._ ” 

* * *

 

            I knew I would be alone – well, for a given definition of _alone –_ at the coffeeshop when I got there, but I hadn’t taken into account that a) university classes are almost entirely built around how easily you can skip them, and b) that college boys are _incredibly_ stupid.

            More than that, Russell was sitting in _my spot._ His arms were curled pretty tightly, mouth forced into a painful-looking scowl – but the really, really interesting part was the bruise on his upper cheekbone. He didn’t strike me as the type to get into fights, so I was _immensely_ curious.

            Besides. That was _my_ damn corner.

            “Look who _finally_ showed up,” he snapped the moment he saw me. I…hadn’t been expecting _that_ reaction.

            “What, no deep, abiding concern this time? What does a girl have to do to get some TLC around here?”

            “Don’t start,” he grumbled.

          I sat down next to him, giving him a less-than-graceful shove out of my particular part of the bench, and Wrath squeezed in next to me. “Nice bruise. What does the other guy look like?”

          “Five foot two, a crossbreed between a golden retriever and a dwarf, and perfectly fine except for the massive boner he’s _apparently_ got for you,” Russell grumbled.

          Wrath stifled his snickers, which was good. I might have actually smacked him otherwise, sensitive and caring Envy be damned. “…Say what?”

          “You forgot something when you left last night.”

          “ _Where_ were you last night?” Wrath asked curiously. I ignored him for now. I was too busy with the dawning realization of what had happened.

           “…Ed went into your room, didn’t he?”

           Russell nodded, still not looking at me. “Quite aside from the incredibly unnerving fact that he can identify your clothes immediately – I didn’t get a chance to explain.”

           “Because hypothermia and stripping unconscious women really sounds better than consensual sex between adults.”

           “Envy, you had _hypoth-_ “

           I (very gently and nicely) slapped my hand over Wrath’s mouth. “Shush. Adults are talking.”

           He turned a mite pink at that, but he was harder to fluster than Ed. I’d gotten in a good one last night, but I figured he’d been a little off-kilter anyway. Now, he was _mad._ “Yes, well, apparently I was supposed to know about his devastating crush on you.” He threw his hands up. “I give up. Everyone’s insane, I don’t know what’s going on anymore – I’m going back to _plants._ ”

           Wrath grabbed my hand and yanked it down. “Plants are cool! I used to have a book all about plants. Did you know that sunflowers can grow over ten feet tall?”

           Russell leaned forward to look past me. “…And this is?”

          “Remember I mentioned a kid at home?”

          Wrath waved and grinned, although it came off probably a little more threatening than he intended. Those were some _very_ pointy canines he had. Maybe he’d actually just been raised by wolves.

           “…Uh huh. Anyway, Ed punched me in the face, Ling is pretending he’s not avoiding me and I don’t know why, and I’m missing my favourite class because I really do not feel like answering the same questions about my face for two hours.” He prodded my shoulder. “You. Go fix it.”

           “ _Me?_ ” I kind of specialized in breaking things. Besides – “Why is this my problem?”

           “Your clothes, your awkward admirer, your near-death experience. _Your problem._ ”

            I opened my mouth. Nothing was coming out. Huh.

            “He makes a good point,” Wrath commented.

            “ _Fine!_ Where is he? I’ll go tell him you paid me to screw you.”

            Russell actually visibly blanched at that. “Thank you, no. I’d rather be asymmetrically wounded, if it matters to you.”

            “Not in the slightest. I’ll come up with something.” When had my life become a goddamn _soap opera?_ I felt like the lead star in the modern, gayer version of _Days of Our Lives –_ right down to Ed punching the _wrong person._

“He’s probably in the library or something. I dunno. Somewhere quiet.” He shrugged. “Or he’s getting really drunk. Both options are quite likely, really.”

            “I’m placing my bets on library.” I got up, squeezed past Wrath, then had to stop and think. “Uh – Wrath, you stay here. Behave, make friends, make conversation, don’t bite anyone.”

            “I’m not going to _bite anybody._ ”

            “You’d be surprised how often the urge seizes you when you’re surrounded by yuppies. Just – don’t.” I turned to Russell. “Uh – buy him coffee, be nice to him, I’ll be back soon.”

            “I’m not a babysitter.”

            “He’s twelve. I think you can manage. Besides, you both like plants, right? Right?” I gestured between the two of them. “See, common ground. I’ll be back later.” I ignored the rest of Russell’s spluttered complaints.

            Wrath stared up at Russell for a moment. “…I saw a dead bird yesterday. It was all maggoty.”

            “ _Envy -!”_

I was already out the door. I would have explained it away as being worried and frustrated, and maybe feeling a little bad for Russell and his bruised face – well, I _did._ I’d already pieced together that he’d gotten hit with Ed’s _right_ arm, and not lightly, either. None of this is _untrue._ But there was something very enticing about the fact that Goldilocks, the perfect golden boy I’d spent so long being festeringly jealous of, wasn’t perfect after all.

 


	25. Interlude L

INTERLUDE L

 

Some memories are folded up

neatly on the shelf

away from peering eyes.

 

Some memories are hung up on the wall

full of pride and vanity

flaunting themselves in joy

they have bright colours instead of shadows

and brilliance instead of mistakes.

 

Some memories are flung on the bedpost

neither public nor private

mundane and content

curled up by the fire in the winter.

 

But some memories.

Some memories are locked away

in a safe

in a cupboard

in the closet and still they

get

out.


	26. Always Let Your Conscience Be Your Guide!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: sex shaming, gendered slurs, transphobia, jealousy, stalking referenced.

             The library wasn’t as forbidding as I thought it would be. I’d always imagined university libraries as massive, ivy-covered edifices, heavy oaken doors creaking open to reveal room upon room of dust-covered tomes –

            -look, I don’t know whether to blame Dungeons and Dragons or the Bronte Sisters, but I can tell you I read Wuthering Heights _way_ too often when I was little. My mother had a thing about them. I think she fancied herself one of their heroines, dark and tragically heartbroken instead of the evil bitch she _actually_ was.

            Point being, there was a library, and it was big. Beyond that, it bore pretty much no similarity to what I’d been led to expect. Hell, there was a _Starbucks_ inside. And computers. Nothing like technology to kill a good old gothic fantasy.

            I wasn’t really sure where to start, so I sat at one of the little walled desks, trying to look like I belonged. I took the opportunity to look around, too. I’d never even been _inside_ a university campus, and the whole thing felt a little bit like entering a different dimension. Everybody looked so _young._ I guess I hadn’t really quite fathomed how _long_ it had been since I was eighteen. I would never have ended up here, though – I’d been too angry, too caught up in more important things.

            “Hey.”

            I jumped despite myself, head darting upwards, and Ed waved at me with a somewhat sheepish look. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you.” He looked more rumpled than usual – I noticed his plaid shirt was inside out, and crumpled in a way that made me think he might have fished it out of the bottom of a laundry basket.

            “I thought I was looking for _you,_ not the other way around,” I grumbled, patting the back of my head to check that my hairclip was still in place. I wasn’t _quite_ preening, but I’d put a lot of work into looking nice today and – _ugh back to being an adult -_

            “Russell texted me.” He wiggled his phone at me with something that was almost a smile. He looked so… worn out. _That’s not me,_ came the slow realization. _He’s not that upset over finding my clothes in Russell’s room. Can’t be._ “Apparently he decided to send you after me or something.” He sighed and tucked the phone back into his pocket, hitching his satchel high up onto his shoulder and wincing a bit. “Anyway, I’m fine and this was all really unnecessary. You can go home now.”

            …Well. That was transparent. Uh. So that’s what it felt like to _care_ that somebody was lying to you. “Has anyone ever told you what a fucking _terrible_ liar you are?”

            He shrugged. “I’m busy.”

            “With what? Maybe I can help.”

            He snorted at that. “Yeah, I don’t think _stoichiometry_ is on your list of skills. Just leave me alone, okay?”

            Wow. I was _really_ hoping I was imagining the undertone to that. I was about to say something – _anything –_ and he turned and began to walk towards the elevator.

            I didn’t see red, but it certainly felt like it. I pushed back the chair I’d been _so_ comfortable in with a squeal and marched after him, grabbing his shoulder. “What the hell was _that?_ ” I snapped.

            He shrugged again. “Nothing.” He wouldn’t look at me.

            “If you’re going to call me a _slut_ , _”_ I hissed, “there’s no need to be so fucking coy about it.”

“Don’t overreact,” he replied flatly, pulling my hand off his shoulder and pressing the elevator button. “Not everything’s about you.”

            “Not everything’s – Oh, what, I’m _selfish_ now?”

            “I didn’t ask you to come looking for me, so don’t start.”

            “Russell did,” I snarled. “Your _friend?_ The one who you gave a black eye?”

            “I didn’t hit him that hard,” Ed replied, but this time in a low mumble that told me he didn’t _quite_ believe what he was saying.

            The elevator opened, and I muscled my way inside, pulling Ed with me and slamming the close-door button before anyone else could join us. There were a couple of them, discreetly trying to listen in while very determinedly reading whatever library brochure was closest at hand. Canadian politeness at its best.

            “Are you done having your little temper tantrum?”

            Ed flared at _that._ “Little _temper tantrum?_ What the _hell_ is wrong with wanting to be alone?”

            I sighed, dropped my bag and leaned back on the elevator rail, pressing the button for the top floor. “You know I didn’t sleep with Russell.”

            “How the fuck would I know that?”

            “Cause I’m pretty sure we _both_ know Russell’s gayer than Elton John.”

            Ed snorted at that, although I could see him trying not to. “That’s – not the point. I don’t –“

            “I think it’s cute that you’re jealous and all, but I’m not your girlfriend.”

            “Don’t you think I know that?” he burst out, and his face flushed red with embarrassment again. The doors slid open, and he was gone again, head ducked and shoulders hunched as he disappeared into the library. I caught a brief glance of his face as he turned away – the flush on his cheeks, the way he avoided my eyes as if he might betray something by doing anything else.

            I stepped out of the elevator, ready to go after him. My mouth was open, the ‘wait’ still lingering on my tongue, but he’d already turned the corner and vanished somewhere into the stacks. Was I supposed to follow him? I wasn’t getting that impression, but he seemed upset…

            _Go help him. He’s hurting._ The deeply-hidden conscience was speaking up again, and being particularly schmaltzy at that. Couldn’t it see I _knew_ that? I had my own shit to sort out, some of that being ‘stop crushing on your own stepbrother and get over yourself’ –

            _You care about him._

 _And another point for little miss Obvious,_ I snarked back, pouting at nothing in particular. _That doesn’t help me with what the fuck to do about it._

_Don’t preach at him. Don’t tell him off. Just let him talk._

_He doesn’t_ want _to._

_That wasn’t the face of somebody who wanted to be left alone._

I sighed. Jiminy Envy was right about that one. It certainly didn’t feel like he was avoiding me because he _wanted_ to. Briefly, my mind went through the worst-case scenarios about what he could possibly be trying to tell me – but I had to stop myself. Not everybody went through the same shit I did. It was probably something harmless.

            …Probably.

            But it wasn’t worth the fucking risk. “Edward Elric, I swear to god –“ I grumbled, making my way into the library.    

            This part of the library was a bit more what I’d expected. The bookshelves reached almost all the way to the ceiling, and I stepped between two of them, drawn by the hardcover spines that lined each aisle. They all had imperious sounding names – ‘The Dawn of the Roman Empire’; ‘The Writings of Seneca’; the kinds of things you _expected_ to see in a library.

            Quietly, with the distance all impossible dreams have, I wondered if I should think about going back to school. It would never happen – but it could have. I wanted to tell my eighteen-year-old self to fuck off and figure herself out, cause she’d fucked up so much over things that weren’t worth the trouble. I couldn’t be _too_ mad, though. Everything had seemed so hopeless for so long, and even now, I couldn’t help but think I’d never be good enough, so there was no point in trying.

            My hand dropped from the books, and suddenly, my vision was getting blurry – I lifted my arm to my face and wiped the tears away hurriedly. What was _wrong_ with me? I was getting all maudlin over nothing. The past was the past, but for some reason, I kept returning to it, going over should-haves and would-haves and maybes like it would change anything. Like it would bring Hohenheim back, or tell me what ‘transgender’ meant ten years earlier, or convince the teenager hiding in the corner to shut up and survive while there was still _time,_ time to be something other than another statistic.

            I sniffed, wrapped my arms around myself for a moment and gathered myself. _You okay? I’m worried about you._ Greed’s voice rang in my ears like he was standing next to me, but there’d been no other way to answer him. What did ‘okay’ even _look_ like? It certainly didn’t look like making crack in your cheap apartment or banging 20-year-olds from the local university.

            One more deep breath, and I was fine again – at least for now. I kept moving through the stacks, looking for a glimpse of blond or red, _anyone_ in the endless sea of books and desks and carpeted floor.

            Finally, I found him, curled into the corner with a book that resembled a brick more than anything else perched on his crossed legs. I didn’t say anything, partially because of the ‘QUIET FLOOR – NO TALKING’ sign above his head. In fact, it was kind of perfectly placed, especially since I could see his eyes travelling over the page. I was dead certain he was taking it in, too, which made me equal parts awed and jealous.

            The whole scene was adorable. Quietly, trying not to disturb him, I pulled my phone from my purse, lifted it and took a picture.

            The sound of the shutter alerted him, and he glared up at me through his bangs. “Why are you taking pictures of me?”

            “Because you look really cute right now.”

            “Please stop.”

            “If you’re serious, I can delete it.”

            He grumbled, then shook his head, face still flushed. People probably didn’t take pictures of him often. “…It’s fine,” he muttered, pulling his knees close into his chest and the book with it. It was such a big book that it made him look even smaller in contrast.

            I sat down on the floor across from him, back against the end of one of the bookshelves. “…What book is that?” I asked, hoping it would make the suspicious look in his eyes go away. He was probably _right_ to be suspicious of me. _I’m lying to you,_ came that conscientious voice again. _I’m lying to you and you don’t even know. To you, I’m the girl in the coffeeshop._

He relaxed a little at the question. “More chemical engineering.” He brightened a little. “Apparently my prof actually _wrote_ this one. Isn’t that neat?”

            “He _what?_ ”

            “Yeah, look!” He closed the book, marking his place with a finger, and showed me the author title. _Dr. Roy Mustang._ Huh. I guessed that was the professor he admired so much. “I’m shocked he hasn’t brought it up. I thought he’d brag about it non-stop.”

            “Oh, so he’s _that_ kind of professor,” I teased.

            Ed snickered. “He’s a pretentious _git,_ but he knows what he’s talking about, and it’s funny watching him sass the rowdy students – hey, _wait,_ I’m not talking to you!” He stuck his head resolutely back into his book, ears sticking out over the pages.

            I moved forward, squatting on my knees, and pushed down the top of the book with a finger. His eyes met mine, and I watched him visibly gulp, slender throat pulsing.

            “You’re _awfully_ afraid of me,” I said quietly. I tried to make it sound like a tease, but it didn’t quite come out that way. The voice in the back of my head was still ticking, _he knows he knows he knows, he knows you’re lying, he knows to be afraid of you –_

“I’m not afraid,” he replied, smile hovering around his lips. “I’m pretty sure I’d beat you in a fight any day.”

            “Is that a promise?”

            The smile didn’t drop, but it did lose some of its colour. I wondered what I was doing wrong. “…If you like me enough to start beating on people over me,” I murmured, “you _could_ have just asked me on a date.” I hoped he couldn’t feel the heat rushing to my cheeks, or the way my heart suddenly sped up. It was like being fourteen again –

            -And I shifted slightly, glad I was wearing a dress. Yep. _Definitely_ like being fourteen again.

            Ed chewed on his lip, face a pink shade to match mine. “It’s…not that simple.”

            “It’s not? You’re single, I’m single –“

            “Remember, I told you I didn’t think anybody was my type?” he interrupted.

I paused, then settled down onto the ground, my haunches getting sore. “…Yeah?” I actually remembered that conversation. “You said you liked men mostly –“

            “That wasn’t entirely true.”

            “Oh.” Well, I was officially lost.

            “I said I don’t think anybody’s my type, cause nobody _is._ And when someone is – when I like someone, when I –“ He swallowed, closing the book and setting it to the side, gathering himself. Words weren’t his strength – I’d figured out that much. And already today, I’d seen more of him than I’d even known existed.

            _Say something._ _Anything._ I couldn’t think of anything, so I just tried to look attentive and put a nice face on. Or at least, a face that said something other than _let me kiss you senseless,_ because this probably wasn’t the time. I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking a few glances at his lips, but nobody’s perfect.

            “When I crush on somebody, it’s _kind_ of a big deal. Last time I did, I was a girl, and she was a girl, and everything was fine until it _wasn’t._ And that kind of sucked, really bad.” Ed shrugged, but it had a mechanic jerk to it. “It’s fine _now,_ but… you know.”

            _Winry,_ my brain supplied. Probably a reach, but I’d heard the name while eavesdropping on his phone call, and I had a feeling from how hard, how _desperately_ he was trying to be okay with it that she was still around. _I meant to call her back. I really did. Honest._

“The point being, Russell was there for that,” Ed continued, his voice getting rather acidic. “So you think he’d know better and keep his fucking _mouth_ shut about it the next time I thought maybe I liked someone. Even if I _was_ being a bit….um… jealous.”

            And now everything was starting to make more sense. “…He was poking you about it.”

            “Yep.” The anger was rising in Ed’s voice again, but it wasn’t at me this time, and it was a tired, exasperated sort of anger, less like fury and more like constant exhaustion, the heavy burden of being frustrated and miserable _again –_

“He doesn’t really get it, does he?”

            Ed shook his head. “He kept telling me to do something about it. I mean, has he _seen_ you?”

            Things were going in an odd direction again. “Uh? What about me?”

            Ed grinned sheepishly, the pinkness in his face concentrating at his ears. “Have you seen _yourself?_ You just – you’re _gorgeous,_ and confident, and you could probably walk into a room of people and tell them to go to war for you, and they’d do it –“ He cut himself off awkwardly, chewing at his lip again. “I mean, it’s kind of like asking Tiny Tim why he hasn’t asked Helen of Troy on a date, isn’t it?”

            I opened my mouth, closed it again, and decided to just continue staring at him like a deer in the headlights. Truth be told, it was less of a thought-through decision and more of a panicked reaction. _Help._

“…Envy?” A hand waved in front of my face. Ed cocked his head, a bemused smile on his face as he prepared to poke my cheek. “Still with me?”

            “Uh?” I blinked. “Um… that depends. Did you actually compare yourself to Tiny Tim?”

            He spluttered. “ _That’s_ what you’re focusing on?”

            “You willingly compared yourself to _Tiny Tim_?”

            “Yes, I get it, I’m short, it’s funny, can we move on? I told you how pretty you were. I’m kinda hurt that’s not getting a _little_ more attention.”

            “I dunno, I’m happy dwelling on how short you are for a little longer.” I still felt a little dazed. “…Should I be flattered by the Helen of Troy comparison or not?”

            “Hey, as far as I’m concerned, she gets a bad rap.”

            I didn’t even _know_ how to follow that up. “So _how_ long have you been noticing me in the corner?” I burst out, my voice cracking a little as my falsetto tried to go up a few octaves that just weren’t there.

            “Uh...” He tugged on his braid. “Since the beginning of the school year,” he mumbled. He’d been back to his sassy self for a moment, but now he was nervous again. I wanted to laugh, or cry, or maybe _both._ “I was just too nervous to talk to you.”

            “Too –“ Holy Christ on a cracker, my stomach was starting to churn from sheer emotional wreckage. I wanted to _scream_ at him. _I could have gone up and talked to you at any point and you would have been okay with it? I could have just talked to you like a normal human being and I wouldn’t be a fucking creep and all of this would be so much simpler –_

Of course, none of that was his fault. And despite the humiliation that was making me want to curl up into a ball and die, for whatever reason, I began to laugh.

            “I swear to _god,_ if you’re laughing at me –“

            “I’m not, I –  give me a _sec._ ” I managed to get myself under control before he noticed how close my giggles were to hysterics. “You think I’m _cool?_ ”

            “Um…yes? No?” He blinked in bewilderment. “I don’t have good enough social skills to know how to answer this?”

            “I’m a fucking high school dropout in a low-rent apartment, with a bad dye job and thrift shop outfits. And _you_ were too nervous to talk to _me._ ”

            He scowled and puffed out his cheeks. “…Well, you have two _legs,_ ” he returned.

            “Oh my _god._ ” There really was no appropriate answer to that, except to grab his shirt and pull him to me. His lips met mine, a little off-center, awkward and unsure. I wasn’t any better. Still, I kept kissing him, and he was kissing me back, and it was clumsy but it was everything I wanted.

            He pulled away, and my heart dropped in disappointment, until I saw what he was looking at. The librarian who was staring at us gathered her wits, then put her fingers to her lips. “Quiet in the library,” she murmured just loud enough for us to hear. “Also, please find somewhere else to… do that.”

            I burst into giggles, and smothered them in the crook of my arm, picking up my purse and staggering to my feet. My legs were jelly, and I groped for something to hold onto. It just so happened to end up being Ed’s shoulder.

            “Come on, you,” he teased, taking my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

            I nodded blithely, still swimming in endorphins. Did I say it was like being fourteen? I felt more like an eight-year-old, squealing internally about a boy. I was just so _relieved._ I was –

            “Oh, _crap._ ”

            “What?” he asked, eyebrows flying up in concern.

            I let go of his hand and yanked my phone out of my purse. “So, uh, Russell’s babysitting Wrath.”

            “…Oh, for –“

            “Yeah, I forgot. You can lecture me about it later.” I pressed the down button, stepping into the elevator.

            He gave me another lopsided grin, digging his hands into his pockets. “We can, right? I mean, talk. Later.” He pushed his hair back out of his eyes, and I was reminded of a golden retriever, his eyes big and eager even as he tried to look suave.

            “Nuh uh. You’re coming with me.” I beckoned him into the elevator.

            “Wh-?”

            “You’re apologizing to Russell.”

            “ _Why?_ ”

            “Cause it’s the nice, gentlemanly thing to do.” Well, okay, the only real reason I was advocating for it was to keep him next to me for a little longer. In the back of my head, somewhere between a whisper and a scream, was the unending litany that he would walk away and change his mind, that he would realize like a bolt of lightning what he was getting himself into, that he didn’t want a broken mess after all –

            _You’re getting ahead of yourself,_ I reminded myself. _Way, way ahead._ Like dark bubbles rising to the surface, all my secrets came to mind. _You need to tell him._

He took my hand again, gently this time. “Do you even _have_ Russell’s number?” he asked.

            “No,” I grumbled. “Text him and let him know we didn’t forget about him, will you?”

“We _did,_ though.”

            “Details.”

            The elevator doors closed – and I pushed him against the wall and kissed him again, like he might disappear at any moment, like he was water in the desert, like the world was coming to an end and time was running out. It might as well have been.

 


	27. Interlude M

 

No matter how long I have

It’ll never be enough.

The red numbers tick away our time

How can I let you go?

 

The way you

                        smile

                        talk

                        laugh

                        listen

            shimmer

            glow

            glitter

            glisten

Bursting like a bubble

And raining down like snow

Leaving me the taste of soap

When I need you most.

 

Faerie dust is all you are now

Losing you to the clock’s dark gleam

Lean in for a kiss

at

     two

            seconds

and you burst apart into ashes and dreams.


	28. Faltering Footsteps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! Sorry about the extended absence, everyone. I had to deal with some severe health issues that unfortunately took longer than hoped to get on an even keel. I can’t promise that this will get onto any sort of regular schedule again, but it is back and it will be finished. This story means so, so much to me and I will see it through. Partially out of spite. Ha.
> 
> I do have some commentary to make, though. Envy is a character, yes, but I want those of you reading to understand that this is a story about real life. These things happen. If you have sympathy for Envy as a character, have sympathy for the people who exist and who feel these things as well. Just something to think about.
> 
> TW: mild PTSD-reaction.
> 
> This chapter dedicated to dal-dog! <3

Some conversations stay with you forever – the words get engraved into your mind, in letters carved so deeply they don’t ever fade. Not every conversation is like that, and Ed and I talked about blessedly ephemeral topics on our way back to the coffeeshop. No life hung in the balance. No great decisions of import were made. Nothing much happened, in fact, except that by the time we got back to the café, I knew that his favourite bands were Franz Ferdinand, The Strokes and My Chemical Romance. I knew that he’d won three science fairs in a row and was part of the robotics club for four years. I knew that he’d set his eyebrows on fire trying to duplicate a school project at home, and that science was the easiest way to get him waving his arms clunkily around and ranting about the uneducated masses who thought Twitter was a good source for their anti-climate-change theories. Little details. All the things I hadn’t even thought about until now.

 

            I don’t remember if I revealed anything particularly interesting. I didn’t _feel_ interesting. I just liked the sound of his voice, and the way he nodded while listening to me. Even more than anything else, I liked the way he smoothly changed sides, putting himself between me and the inevitable showers of dirty water as cars drove past, tires slashing through the puddles in the street. And I loved the way his hand crept down shyly to take mine, the warmth of flesh through his thin white glove both unexpected and anticipated.

 

            “Well, here we are,” he said awkwardly, noticing that we were across from the street from the shop now. For the first time in a long time, I actually read the name of the place. _Café Mare._ I supposed I’d known that at some point. With a hesitation I couldn’t quite read, he let go of my hand and stuck his own in his pockets.

 

            I thought I’d hid my expression, but he took a quick glance at me and turned red. “S-sorry. I just – Russell.”

 

            That made sense, even though I just wanted to kiss him in front of everyone. _Mine,_ growled the darker part of me. _Mine now._ The satisfaction I felt at that was… I tried not to think about it.

 

            When we finally made it inside, Ling was sitting at the table – _my table, dammit –_ with Russell, Wrath curled up on one of the seats with his new notebook perched on his knees. It was the first time I’d seen our circles collide quite so… evenly.

 

            “Ed!” And suddenly there was a figure launching through the air, almost knocking Ed to the ground with a ferocious hug. “You’re _back!_ ”

 

            There was a spat of grumbling. Then in a not-too-impressed voice, Ed retorted, “Get. Off.”

 

            “I’m showing my _love,_ Eddie!”

 

            “Don’t _call_ me that!”

 

            Ling slowly unlatched his arms from around Ed’s neck, Cheshire-cat grin bright and sunny in sharp contrast to the hole he’d chewed through his lip. “Fiiiine. Ruin my fun.” He gave me an unreadable smile. “Hey, Envy.”

 

            “…Hi,” I replied cautiously.

 

            “You look nice today!”

 

            “….Um… thank you?” _Stop liking me,_ I seethed. I didn’t want anybody to _know_ things had changed. My career was _my_ secret, and besides – I cast a look at Russell – I wasn’t getting tangled up in _this_ mess. “Russ, how’s the brat?”

 

            “The brat is fine,” Wrath responded instead, head still buried in his notebook. Mine was tucked safely underneath his arm. “Thanks for asking.” He tapped his pen against the side of his cheek, where a series of black inkspots had cropped up. “What rhymes with orange?”

 

            I snorted. “Come on. Time to go home.” Then I gave Ed a meaningful look.

 

            “What?” he grumbled, digging his hands into his pockets. “I – stop _looking_ at me like – _fine._ ” He fell silent for a moment.

 

            Ling was trying not to laugh. I discreetly slid over and stepped on his foot. _Hard._

Ed finally opened his mouth, cheeks bright red. “…It’s not _that_ bad of a bruise!”

 

            The slap that Russell’s hand made as it hit his forehead was so loud that for a moment, I thought he’d hit _Ed._ It would have been excusable if he had – as it was, I could only imagine the red mark he’d left on his own forehead. “…That’s all I’m getting, isn’t it?”

 

            Ed turned an even deeper red. “I – Fuck _off._ ”

 

            “You’re horrendous at this.”

 

            “Well, _you’re_ horrendous at taking a punch –!“

 

            I could tell they were teasing. The small smile on Russell’s face and the slow easing of Ed’s tense shoulders told me enough of that. Besides, I’d spent enough time walking around with a man’s mask that I knew how men interacted with each other. Loudly, grumpily and with a large dose of artificial chips on their shoulders to properly be the Tough Ones.

 

            Still, I reached my hand discreetly out to Wrath, who was already slinking away from the table, notebooks clutched protectively to his chest. Not every loud man was dangerous. Not every dangerous man was loud, either. But – still. You learned.

 

            And then – with a sudden jolt of realization – I noticed that Ling, too, had slipped away. I wondered if I should follow him. I decided it would just make it more conspicuous, and I’d probably done enough damage, and Wrath was holding onto my hand with fingers that were squeezing ever more tightly -

 

            I swallowed. “If the two of you are done yelling at each other, are we back to being adults?”

 

            Ed blew a raspberry. “…I _guess._ ” He slid in next to Russell and stole a piece of Danish off of his plate.

 

            “This means war, Edward.”

 

            “Weren’t we already at war?”

 

            “That was a border skirmish compared to the destruction I am about to rain down on your leather-clad arse.”

 

            Slowly, like a trickle, I could feel the tension leak out of Wrath’s fingers. “Well, if that’s all, I have work to do and a campaign to finish planning.”

 

            Russell snorted and rolled his eyes. “I will _never_ understand the appeal.”

 

            “What do _you_ do for fun, make fertilizer?” I retorted.

 

            Ed stuck his tongue out at Russell, who grabbed for it with his fingers and missed by an inch. “He _sings_ to his plants.”

 

            “There are _several well-documented cases of –_ “

 

            “Anyway,” Ed interrupted, another flush creeping on his face. The poor boy was going to sunburn himself at this rate. “See you… Wednesday?”

 

            “Wednesday?” Then it clicked. “Oh! Um – s-sure.” I managed to keep my own face from not turning too red. “Uh, where do you wanna -?”  


            He shrugged, then grinned. “Your place?”

 

            “S-sounds good,” I stuttered. So much for Helen of Troy. Fuck him, fuck him and his stupid _grin,_ and his stupid cockiness.

 

            …Well, _two_ could play at that game. I took the few steps over, my high heels clacking on the café linoleum, bent over and planted a kiss on his cheek. I left a nice red smear of lipstick behind, too. “So, my place Wednesday night, then?” I murmured, trying not to laugh at the utterly _bemused_ expression on Russell’s face.

 

            “Wh-what happened to lying low?” Ed squeaked.

 

            “You started it.” I pinched his cheek, then walked away, waving a casual goodbye. “Later!”

* * *

 

             Much to Wrath’s credit, he waited until we were across the street. In fact, he would have waited longer than that, an almost perfect ‘u’ of a smile carved on his face until I rolled my eyes. “Spit it _out_.”

 

            “ _You and Ed are SO CUTE_ -“

 

            I waved my hand at him with a grumble. “Okay, spit it back in.”

 

            “You’re going on a _date!_ ”

 

            “Maybe. Why?”

 

            “I’m gonna be your bridesmaid!”

 

            “I – _No!_ ” I put a hand on his head to stop him jumping up and down. “Nobody’s getting married.”

 

            He made a disappointed sound, and settled down a little. “…But _if_ you do, I get to be the bridesmaid, right?”

 

            “Sure.” I glanced down at the two notebooks, desperate for a subject change. “…You like yours?”

 

            Wrath nodded, a shy smile on his face. “It’s purple. I like purple.”

 

            It had been that or the one with a giant dog on the cover, and while bulldogs were cute, I felt like the purple was a little classier. Still, I tried to look all-knowing. “ _Everyone_ likes purple.”

 

            We kept walking. Quietly, he added something. “I had a purple diary once.” There wasn’t anything after that. I didn’t ask. He didn’t need me chasing whatever trail his thoughts had taken him. Instead, when his hand snuck back into mine, I gave it a squeeze and continued on like everything was normal.

 

            The thought struck me that more than one person walking by probably thought he was mine. I couldn’t help but flinch a little at the idea. _Me,_ a _parent?_ I shied away from the term ‘mother’. It brought up too many things I didn’t like thinking about. But somehow I didn’t mind people thinking – people _knowing –_ that Wrath belonged to me.

 

            It was almost normal.

 


	29. Interlude N

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Wrath's notebook.

 

Sometimes I’m a boy  
and I’m just like everybody else  
I know how to smile  
I don’t have to yell  
but sometimes I’m a monster  
and I have to be locked up  
and I have to stop being angry

And I have to shut up

I don’t know how sometimes

My mouth keeps moving

And I see red

And I don’t like losing

I don’t want to hurt anybody

Except when I do

But if it’s only sometimes

Which part is true?


	30. Go Ask Alice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I’m caught up to where I was! Updates will be slow from here on out, but I’m still proud of this chapter and I don’t like sitting on finished work.
> 
> TW: Alcohol and drug use, dissociation, major PTSD, implied child sexual abuse, sex work referenced, implied sex

I’m not sure when my mask slipped, or when I realized it was a mask in the first place. I was _happy._ I was happy and I was content and I was okay, and somewhere between letting go of Wrath’s hand at the front door and closing it behind me while he ran into the kitchen, it… slipped.

 

“I’ve… got to go,” I mumbled, ignored whatever protest chased me out of the door, trying to draw me back – and slid away, dark hallways with their lights broken sliding by as I tried to shake the restlessness out of my feet, the apathetic displacement out of my head –

 

            -and the next thing I saw clearly was the number of an apartment that wasn’t mine. _766._ It took too long for me to process that it was Greed’s apartment, but it came to me eventually, why my feet had taken me there, and I knocked on the door. A few seconds later – faster than I’d expected – he appeared, looming over me in that casual way of his and rubbing his eyes. He was shirtless, with day-old stubble sprouting on his face. “Well, well. If it’s not the little monster herself-“

 

            I shoved roughly past him, a sputter of surprise coming from him and not slowing me down. “Fuck off,” I grumbled, trying to put some emotion in my voice, trying to sound a little less dead. What was wrong _what was wrong –_

_-you’ll have to tell Ed and then you’ll lose him and he’ll hate you because you LIED LIED LIED-_

And wonderful thanks to my brain for supplying one of twenty possible things I could be freaking out about. Time for alcohol. I beelined for the fridge, barely breaking my pace. Greed always had something – beer, rum, absinthe – and that’d do to start. Then I could break into whatever he had on standby. Something. _Anything._

I reached for the fridge – and Greed’s hand appeared on the door, holding it shut. “I don’t think so,” he murmured quietly, even though nobody else was there.

 

            “Fuck off.” I yanked on the handle anyway. It didn’t move.

 

            “It’s my house.”

 

            “Yeah, your shitty apartment with a broken lock cause a crackhead kicked it in. Let me have a beer.”

 

            He didn’t seem to have a response to that. Instead, he leant back, moving his weight off the door so I could open it. I yanked a Keith’s from the door, giving it a skeptical look before I shrugged and popped the cap on the counter. I took a swig. The bitter taste grounded me a little, made me feel a little less like I was about to fall off the biggest, ugliest cliff in existence. What the _fuck_ was I panicking so much about? My heart rate was through the roof, and I couldn’t even fucking figure out _why. You kissed a cute boy, get over it._

 

            “You passing me one?” He smirked at me, hands crossed over his bare chest. He seemed to absolutely _glory_ in being a caricature of manliness, wiry black hair growing all over his torso and his dog-tags hanging from his neck. It was so unbelievably stupid. It was like he was trying to be El Chapo. The silver belt-buckle and leather pants just kind of summed up the whole picture.

 

When I didn’t respond, he reached forward and flicked my chin. “Ya know, if you’re going to get on your knees and blow me, you should hurry up. Checking me out is hot, but I’m getting bored over here, darling.”

 

            “ _Die_ in a _hurricane._ ” I picked up the bottle, finished it in one last chug, and then chucked it at him. It didn’t quite break, but he caught it before it could hit the floor.

 

            “That’s dangerous, babe. Don’t start throwing these inside.”

 

            “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.” I reached for another one, then stopped. Alcohol wasn’t going to get me to forget. I needed to be out of my head, not stuck in it. “You got anything stronger?”

 

            He snorted. “What kind of question is that?”

 

            “Stop it,” I grumbled. “It’s the kind of question that leads to you handing me some molly and telling me to have fun. That’s what you _do,_ isn’t it?”

 

            “Not for free, usually.”

 

            “Oh, what, you’re going to charge me?” I tossed my hair over my shoulder. It’d fallen out of the messy bun I’d put it in at some point, although I could still feel the bobby pins stuck in it and occasionally poking my scalp. “I guess I should start charging you for sex, then.” It was meant to be an offhand comment, but I could hear the edge I’d put in it despite myself, and I knew he could too. I wondered how I’d fucked up this time.  

 

            Greed, however, just chuckled and shifted, leaning back against the counter. It had the likely intentional side-effect of sticking out his hips. I resolutely didn’t look. “Well, _someone’s_ in a mood, and not the fun kind. Something happen?”

 

            I paused. I wondered if I should tell him. Lust had already surprised me –

 

            _No questions. No names. No pasts._ Unspoken rules were still rules, and I didn’t feel like breaking it _now._ We weren’t getting into this. Not when we all lived in an apartment building where we paid in cash and kept our mouths shut and quietly rotted ourselves away into nothing, thinking about all our lost opportunities. And when each of us disappeared, we didn’t ask. We didn’t question it. Sloth – the big lug – was probably dead. It was just easier.

 

            “Nothing,” I mumbled, and grabbed another beer. At this point, anything would do.

 

            Greed watched me with his dark gaze, expression unreadable. I had the faint, annoyed sense he was worrying about me. People kept _doing_ that.

 

He took a few steps across his small cramped kitchen, blocking out the flickering fluorescent lightbulb that hung from the ceiling as he gently took the glass bottle from my hands. I found myself flinching at the touch of his fingers against mine, although I couldn’t name why. “Alcohol’s a depressant, darling. You look sad enough already.” His words had a teasing lilt to them, but there was a seriousness to them too.

 

This time, I didn’t brush it off, or dismiss him – but I did avoid the question that was still hidden under the words. He wasn’t _wrong._ “Then gimme an upper. You’ve got everything in your little box of dreams.” I let him take the bottle away.

 

            “Molly, you said?” He smirked. He didn’t have his sunglasses on, and he didn’t have gel in his hair either, so it drooped into his eyes, shaggy and tousled. It made him look like someone else completely. I certainly didn’t mind it.

 

            “Y-yeah.” I was slipping, slipping, slipping, but I could fake it – I just had to follow the script. Snark, mean comment, casual violence. Nod, shake head, repeat. No questions, no names, no pasts…oh, but I wanted to make him stop worrying. He kept doing it, and I couldn’t understand why. _You’ve got a dead wife, but I don’t make it my problem, do I-?_ but I kept regretting having said it and it curdled in my stomach with every other rotten thing I’d ever done, and I –

 

-had missed whatever he’d just said. Fuck. “What?”

 

He laughed softly. He was – oh fuck, that _bastard –_ he was being _gentle._ I wanted to hit him, just to show him I wasn’t made of porcelain. What is it with people whose first reaction to realizing you’re damaged is to pretend you’re made of glass?

 

Then again, I guessed when I felt this close to shattering, it wasn’t all bad.

 

“I asked if this was your first time rolling.”

 

“Fuck, no. What, you think I went to _class_ in high school?”

 

“You’d be such a cute studious type though.” He grinned, and before I could react, leaned in to kiss me on the nose. “Alright, I’ll go get it. Put on some music, all that.”

 

“I’m not dancing with you.”

 

“You can’t drop molly in _silence,_ Envy. It’s just not done.” He wandered out into the living room, and I watched him for a moment before I phased out completely again. I – _what was I going to do –_ I hadn’t meant to –

 

-and if I’d just needed to trick my brain into thinking I was alone for a few seconds, as if some protective response in me had been keeping the barriers up just to make sure everybody knew that I was _fine,_ everything was _fine,_ and I had a boyfriend or something now and wasn’t that _fantastic –_

-I realized the kitchen was getting blurry, and there was a pain in my chest like somebody had hit me, but I felt _fine,_ except I was slipping once more and I was slipping down the fridge onto the floor because my legs had gone numb and lifeless – and suddenly there were tears dropping on my knees like little crystal raindrops -

_-whats going on why do I hurt so much-_ except it was there, like a siren in my head going off over and over again – _you only see his father, don’t you? He’s falling in love with you and all you can see is Phillip van fucking Hohenheim screwing you over again -_

 

            “-all right?”

 

            My body was shaking, every single bone in me was shaking like it was ready to splinter, and I couldn’t even articulate why, not even to myself. The only part of me that could was the tiny little bitter flame deep inside my chest that whispered all the truths and secrets that I tried to erase. My name. The kiss on my forehead that Phi- _Hohenheim_  had given me, scarring and searing my skin, and his back walking away, and the quiet way I’d accepted that he’d be back, he’d be back _eventually,_ he wouldn’t just _leave me_ when he knew, he knew how much my mother hated me -

 

            A hand gripped my wrist and instead of fighting back, I felt myself go slack, unable to resist the touch that felt like somebody reaching out from the past. But instead of reaching for my dress ( _dress I wasn’t wearing a dress I was wearing my pyjamas and they had Snoopy on them)_ it stayed on my wrist, stroking the flesh that had long ago healed. I’d gouged it open more than once, but I’d been lucky and hadn’t been left with more than a little bit of discoloration.

 

            “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”

 

            _What’s he talking about?_ I thought blearily, _I’m fine, just fine, can’t you see how fine I am?_ I even managed to pull my lips into some mockery of a smile, but instead, Greed’s hand lifted to my head and pulled me into his chest. I fell into him, thoughts disorganized but a few rising to the surface like the bodies of the drowned, bad memories I’d weighed down with booze and blood and pain. _He smells like cigarettes. Phillip never smoked. He’d be so disappointed in me._

_Good boy._

_Don’t tell your mother._

 

            Time passed – I know it did, because the clock on Greed’s wall ticked for every second – and I clung to him like I was drowning. More time passed. Finally, in a voice that was halfway to a growl, Greed asked, “Did someone hurt you?”

 

            “Nobody,” I lied. “I just had a long day.” Steady words, almost believable. Nobody _had_ hurt me. I was just the crazy one crying over a man who’d walked out on me when I was nine. Like a shitty romance heroine. _-JUST FUCKING TELL HIM-_ screamed the siren in my head, and I mentally responded to it, _where the fuck would I start?_ Ed, or Greed, or Lust, or Wrath, or Ling – there wasn’t a single fucking person who would _get it._ It was one thing to have been betrayed, to have been abandoned. None of us were here by choice. But you weren’t supposed to still love the person who’d hurt you – still be searching for him in any piece of the past I could rummage up.

 

            Script. I’d lost my script. Instead I raised my head to look at him through a veil of green. “Stop looking so worried,” I teased, as if I hadn’t just collapsed on the kitchen tile. “I’m –“ I stopped. Adjusted. “I’ll be okay.”

 

            His hand was on the small of my back now, the heat of his touch radiating through the thin fabric. “You keep saying that,” he murmured.

 

            “So do you,” I retorted, without thinking. His hand tightened on my back, then loosened again.

 

            “I suppose I do.” He hooked his other hand under my knees, and with a grunt, hoisted me into the air. I yelped and clung to him, wiggling my legs a little, but I didn’t have the energy to put up as much resistance as would _really_ be appropriate. He carried me over to the couch – and with a grand gesture, dropped me unceremoniously onto the pillows.

 

            “ _Asshole!_ ”

 

            “See, you’re yelling at me. I knew that would work.”

 

            There wasn’t anything nearby to throw at him, so I settled for sulking instead, tucking my head just underneath the arm of the sofa and curling in tightly. It was nice here. Comfortable. My head didn’t hurt so much. I closed my eyes.

 

            A few moments later, notes started drifting through the air, quiet at first, and then louder with every second that passed – smooth synth, simple vocals, a rising beat. Greed reappeared with a glass of water and a little pink skull-shaped capsule resting in his palm.

 

            “You’re still giving me drugs?” I sat up, trying to pull my hair out of my eyes.

 

            He shrugged. “It’s that or talk about it.”

 

            “I’ll take the drugs, thanks.” I reached for the capsule, but he closed his palm. “The – fuck _off,_ you just said I could –“

 

            He cut me off with a rough kiss, lips pushing and moving against mine, tongue slipping between my teeth to brush ever-so-barely against mine. After too short a time, he pulled away. “There. Bought and paid for.”

 

            I remembered to breathe. “…Me or the drugs?”

 

            He snickered again. He seemed so – _happy._ I didn’t know how to take it. Maybe it just seemed that way because I was an emotional wreck instead of just being a bitch. “The drugs. You, I can’t put a price on.”

 

            I opened my mouth, trying to find some witty response, and he took my chin and popped the capsule inside instead. The taste was just as foul as I remembered, and I tucked it under my tongue before any more of the bitterness could spread.

 

            He grinned at me again, then popped another one into his mouth, swallowing it with a swig of water. “I even got pretty ones for you.”

 

            “Aw. I’m so honoured.” The pill was almost gone now, dissolving into a thick paste and then away into my bloodstream. I stole the glass of water from Greed, drank some of it – and then in a fit of impulsivity, dumped the rest of it over my head, eyes closed. It was cold, and it ran down my cheeks and into my dress like rain.

 

The music had changed – now it was something electronic and beautiful but just as pulsing, and before I even had the time to appreciate it, Greed turned it up and it was making my skull rattle and it was _perfect._ I couldn’t hear myself think. I couldn’t even hear myself breathe. All I could feel was the drip-drip-drip of the water down my neck and I shuddered every time it did. Ice down my spine. That was

_brilliant_

\- hand on my wrist again. I was on my feet now and Greed was moving against me, and I moved with him and then his hands were on my hips and his lips were at my neck -

\- and then I was in the air and my legs are on his waist, the slits of my dress falling open as I clasp myself around him

\- and the rough stucco plaster is at my back -

 

\- my heartbeat was barely a flicker now, a slave to the pulsing rhythm that filled my world. Good. That was good.

 

And I was okay. I was okay, I was floating, and the abyss was gone, and –  
\- and above and below me there was nothing but endless, empty, sky.


	31. Interlude O

INTERLUDE O

 

love me at my best or don’t love me at all   
love me like this  
when I am a giant  
when I am an angel and a demon all at once  
this is me at my purest and don’t try to tell me  
that I am more genuine  
when I am

broken.


End file.
